


Watched the world tear us apart

by Skoll



Series: A constant reminder [3]
Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, FrostIron - Freeform, It's never as easy as it should be with these two, Jötunn Loki, Loki Has Issues, M/M, Slightly bastardized Norse mythology, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 17:06:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skoll/pseuds/Skoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony's been waiting for his soulmate for over thirty years; Loki's been waiting for over a millenium.</p><p>That doesn't mean either of them knows what to actually do with a soulmate, once they've met.</p><p>(Or: What Thor the movie would have looked like if it was a soulmates AU with Tony Stark in it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the comments on the last fic in this series seemed to fall between two categories: "full sequel please" and "do what you want, we'll read." Here I am with a full sequel. I hope it meet everyone's expectations. *grins*
> 
> As a note for this chapter: The sciences I am actually competent in do not in any way include theoretical physics or plate tectonics. If there's Bad Science occurring here in a notable way, please feel free to tell me and I'll happily correct it. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Tony wakes up, the sort of split-second waking up that leaves him disoriented as hell, with his spine feeling like it's practically on fire.

At first, he thinks the latest idiot supervillain of the week is attacking his home—but a moment later he discards that thought, because there's no accompanying chaos to go with his sudden waking. Usually attacks tend to come with the sound of breaking glass and the ground shaking, at the very least, and probably some smoke and heat to indicate a fire going on somewhere; right now, there's none of that. There's nothing, actually. Nada, zilch, not even the sound of someone sneaking around. There's just Tony's quick breathing, and the sound of the ocean breaking against rocks.

“Jarvis?” Tony asks, already swinging his legs out of bed. One of his hands goes, instinctively, to the small of his back, covering the four letters—he hisses at the touch. “Jesus, that hurts,” he says, and stands up. If there's going to be an emergency, better it happen while Tony's fully dressed and awake. He's learned that lesson the hard way.

“Sir?” Jarvis asks, and if Tony isn't mistaken—which, he's Tony Stark, he's never mistaken—there's a note of concern under the professionalism. 

“Are your sensors picking up anything abnormal?” Tony asks. “You know, somebody attacking us, earthquake swallowing California, this week's rendition of the apocalypse? Anything?”

“No, sir,” Jarvis responds, “I am detecting nothing out of the ordinary.” Which—shit. Tony knows something is wrong, the sort of knowing that comes from gut knowledge rather than anything his brain is coming up with. He was sort of hoping Jarvis could validate that feeling and back it up with fact. If Jarvis can't—

“Sir,” Jarvis says, derailing Tony's train of thought, “I apologize if this is unwelcome, but might I ask whether you've injured your spine?”

Tony hadn't noticed, until that moment, that he was still clutching at his back like it might break without the support of his fingers. Actually, he hadn't noticed much of anything about it, save that it hurt like hell. But now—well, now Tony takes the time to think about what that means, that those four little letters on his back no longer feel so much like magnets as little pinpricks of flame in his skin.

For the first time in Tony's life, all four letters are pulling in the exact same direction, and it hurts.

Tony sits back down on his bed. “Shit,” he says, because there's every possibility that something he's been waiting for his whole life is about to happen, and what the hell else is he supposed to say to that?

Then, a moment later, the fire fades and the pull stops, and the sudden nothingness in the place of pain is actually worse than the pain itself.

“Shit,” Tony says again, and drops his head into his hands and just sits still, breathing.

…

“Okay, Jarvis,” Tony says, “let's run that through again.”

Come on, this is Tony Stark. Yes, alright, last night sucked, and Tony is going to have words with his soulmate whenever this gets worked out, because, seriously? The appearing-then-disappearing act that went on there was definitely not appreciated. 

That said, sitting around feeling sad about it is something other people do. Tony is not other people. Tony won't just let this pass him by unnoticed—he's going to make the most out of this. Now, at least, he's pretty definitively sure that his soulmate exists; and, if the guy won't come to him, Tony will make a way himself. It's what he does.

“Yes, sir,” Jarvis says. “At precisely 1:07 a.m., pacific time, last night, there were one hundred and fifty-three notable events occurring worldwide. Shall I narrow the specifications?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, trying to get his brain to spark off an idea of how to go about this. God, Tony's tired—last night was the first time he even tried sleeping in three days, and, well, it wasn't exactly restful. Coffee pretty much stops cutting it after seventy-two hours mostly sleepless. One day Tony will build himself a caffeine IV drip and be a happier human being for it. “We ran this search once based on parameters of human activity, and unless my soulmate was suddenly lured into revealing himself by a conference on the latest developments in prosthetic biofeedback mechanisms—,” which, admittedly, this is Tony's soulmate they're talking about, so that is a possibility, if a slim one “—we should probably start looking at physical phenomena.” Because why the hell not, right?

“Narrowing search parameters,” Jarvis says, and for a minute there's silence. Tony rolls the stress ball he's been toying with around in his palm, fingers somewhat automatically checking the tensile strength of the ball. At least breaking stress balls feels like doing something. “Sir,” Jarvis says, finally, “my search has yielded twenty-two reports of seismic activity throughout the twelve-hour period of last night, ranging from a 2.0 on the MMS scale to a 3.5. Only one of these reports suggests seismic activity at precisely 1:07 a.m., and the epicenter of this activity was reported to lie along the Denali Fault in Alaska.”

“Right,” Tony says, “so I guess that rules out earthquakes, surprise surprise. Look, Jarvis, let's work on the assumption that normal events like low-grade seismic activity and tidal swells are out of the picture. Narrow your search parameters to include solely atypical events.” Right now Tony is willing to go out on whatever limb he needs to—and, what the hell, if his whole life has been something out of a bad romance book, why can't his solution wander into science fiction?

“One moment,” Jarvis says, and then, not three seconds later, “Sir. An unusual atmospheric phenomena was reported to have occurred in Puente Antiguo, New Mexico, at approximately 2:10 a.m. mountain time.” Or, in other words, exactly three minutes after Tony woke up in pain in Malibu—and that's assuming the report's time is accurate, and not just rounded up to the nearest ten minute interval. It's possible that whatever that event was, it happened exactly as Tony woke. Which, admittedly, gives Tony nothing conclusive to work with, but still. “No explanation has been provided to adequately explain this phenomena to date, but the local who witnessed it described the event as 'a tornado of light.' Though it may be of worth, sir, to note that the local in question also maintains a blog called 'Evidence of Encounters with the Third Kind,' and said that he believed an alien descended from the sky in the tornado.”

Tony snorts. Right, so, the odds the guy is a whackjob are kind of high. Still, there's some little fragment of an idea pinging in the back of Tony's head, a memory of some kind—

The memory slips into place, and Tony snaps his fingers. “Wasn't what's-her-name, you know, the brunette astrophysicist with the fascination for Einstein-Rosen bridges who I met at that StarkTech geekfest—”

“Doctor Jane Foster, sir?” Jarvis supplies, helpful as always.

“That's the one,” Tony says. “I've got some memory of her mentioning interest in some sort of atmospheric phenomenon, something to do with auroras. And wasn't her lab based out of New Mexico?” Photographic memory: Tony Stark's got one, in other news. Sometimes, it actually comes in handy, instead of just randomly spitting out the name of King Arthur's nephew into Tony's thought-stream while he's in the shower or something equally meaningless.

“Yes, sir. Jane Foster is currently the tenant of a building in none other than Puente Antiguo, New Mexico.”

Tony grins. Finally, he might be getting somewhere. Albeit with a crazy theory and little to no evidence, but Tony will take that for now and build on it later. “Alright. I think I'm going to shoot an email to Dr. Jane Foster, in that case. Never too late to catch up with acquaintances.”

…

Four days later, that crackpot theory is still the best one Tony has—and, worse, Dr. Foster hasn't gotten back to him yet. Tony isn't very good at waiting for things, and he's especially terrible at waiting for answers. Logically, this shouldn't be that hard; Tony's waited his whole life for this particular set of answers, it would stand to reason a week would feel like nothing. But...it doesn't. It just isn't easy, even if it should be.

Finally, Tony gives up on waiting. It's the work of maybe five minutes to have Jarvis track down Dr. Foster's cell phone number, and Tony puts a call through to that number as soon as Jarvis has it. He leans back in his chair in the lab, listening to the call ring through the lab's speakers, and tries to figure out exactly how he's supposed to start this conversation. 

When she finally does pick up, on the fourth ring, Tony just opens his mouth and talks, fuck analyzing the best options. “Hello, Dr. Foster? This is Tony Stark—”

What Tony doesn't expect is to be suddenly cut off by her voice saying, tone relieved, “Oh thank God.” Which, okay, Tony's had people faint in reaction to seeing him before, but thanking their personal deities just because he introduced himself on the phone? That's a new one to Tony. “I'm aware that this is going to sound crazy, Mr. Stark, but I need your help.”

“Call me Tony,” Tony says, on reflex, and then his brain actually catches up with his mouth. “Also. Um. What?”

“I was going to call you four days ago, when he first showed up,” Dr. Foster says, and who is the he in this story, exactly? Tony's sticking with his very intelligent first thought on the subject: What? “Except that his story seemed so far-fetched, and I wasn't sure you'd want to hear about a strange man whose brother has the same name as your soulmate, when that man was also claiming to be a Norse god, you know? So I put off calling you until I could get some facts to back me up—except now government agents have taken all my research and Thor's in their custody and I need your help.”

Tony tries to turn that garble into anything meaningful, and comes up blank. “Can you maybe take that again from the top, at half the speed?” he asks, because he's fairly certain this woman just claimed to know something about his soulmate, in between the crazy talk.

Dr. Foster laughs, nervously. “I'm sorry, I kind of babble when I'm stressed. Okay. Um. Four days ago, I was out observing an atmospheric event, and I hit a man with my car...”

And so the story comes out. Thor, the man who took Foster's car's bumper to the stomach, claims to be a Norse god—and Foster is far from believing him, but she claims that the atmospheric event was actually an Einstein-Rosen bridge, and so Thor is the only person on Earth to have experienced what being inside a wormhole is really like. Throw in SHIELD's very own Agent Coulson confiscating everything in her lab—including, her assistant steals the phone to add, her I-pod—and the fact that Thor broke into a temporary SHIELD facility to get back something he claims is his, and is now in SHIELD custody, and it's just a regular mess all around.

Normally, Tony is the one who causes messes, not the one who fixes them—or, well, causes them and then fixes them in ingenious ways, but that's hardly the point. What Tony means is that, usually? Tony goes out of his way not to take on other people's trouble. He's not a team player, okay, and his sainthood will never be coming in the mail. Tony just doesn't interfere, so long as he isn't directly involved in the mess.

One small problem, though: Thor told Foster that his brother's name was Loki. L-o-k-i. Four little letters. 

And yes, Thor is likely a crazy person—and, yes, if Tony's willing to believe this story he also has to buy wormholes through space and Norse gods, and Tony is absolutely never going to be the sort of person who'll just accept those things on faith.

And yet, this is still the only lead Tony has. Foster insists her Einstein-Rosen bridge opened at exactly 2:07 a.m. when Tony asks, and he doesn't even tell her why he's asking, gives no hint that that's the time he's looking for. She gives it anyway.

Tony hears her story out, and, maybe, if Tony was someone else, he would be able to say no. What he actually says is, “Hey, take a deep breath and stop panicking. I've got this covered. All you have to do now is sit back and enjoy the show.” Then he hangs up, drops his head into his hands, and breathes deeply. He's had to do far too much of that lately.

“Sir,” Jarvis asks, after a few moments of silence, “should I take that conversation to mean that I should arrange for your jet to make a trip to New Mexico?”

Tony lifts his head up and says, “I don't even like New Mexico.” As complaints go, that's a petty one, but Tony needs to say something other than 'what exactly am I getting myself into this time?' and complaints about New Mexico will do. Jarvis doesn't respond to that, and Tony blows out a breath and waves his hand through the air. “Yeah, Jarvis, set up the flight.”

Tony Stark's life, ladies and gentlemen. Sometimes it is a strange and terrifying place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few end notes:
> 
> First, I'm going to try to update this on a regular basis, but I have no idea how regular that's going to be. I do have this whole story plotted out in my head, but it's a question of when I'll actually have time to sit down and write it, considering I'm into the hard half of my semester and then finals. So let's optimistically say once a week on Fridays, and I'll inform you guys if that changes.
> 
> Also, this is not going to be the only full length sequel. I'm thinking this story will cover the altered events of Thor, and then there'll be one more full-length thing covering the Avengers, with maybe a few shorter pieces thrown in somewhere. The full length works will have semi-alternating Loki and Tony POV, while the shorter pieces will be single POV. Just a heads up.
> 
> Anyway, if you got this far and enjoyed, please drop me a comment. I love hearing from you guys.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It looks like my optimistic guess of Friday as the update day work actually works. Hurray. :)
> 
> Also, you guys. You're awesome. Thank you so much to everyone who commented on the last chapter. Eventually I will actually carve time out of my schedule to respond to everyone, but for now, just know every comment was extremely appreciated.
> 
> Finally, writing about 90% of this chapter made me wildly happy. I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing.

“Really?” Agent Coulson asks, voice dry and disbelieving, and Tony actually cannot keep the giant grin off his face.

“I could cross my heart and swear to die if that would reassure you,” Tony says, solemnly, and refuses to break eye contact with Coulson. When Coulson just looks back down at the information Tony's presented him with and doesn't say anything, Tony resists the urge to roll his eyes and says, “Yes, really. It's all there, Agent Coulson. See for yourself.”

Coulson clearly has been seeing for himself, and equally clearly doesn't like what he's seeing. “So this Doctor Thor Odinson is a StarkTech employee?”

Tony nods, pressing his hands into the neatly pressed pockets of his suit pants. “For the last five years, yes. The technical term would be consultant, though, rather than full time employee.”

“What, exactly, was he consulting for, that required him trespassing on an area clearly cordoned off by SHIELD?” Coulson says, tone indicating that he believes precisely none of this. That's alright, though—Tony doesn't need him to actually believe any of this. He just needs to make this cover story seem legitimate enough that Coulson has no legal recourse to hold the guy here.

So Tony Stark does what he does best: bullshit. “Whatever it was that came out of the sky, it's been screwing with the reception of StarkTech devices in the area. There was a sudden localized influx of customer complaints, so I sent Odinson down here to check it out for me.”

Coulson raises one eyebrow and asks, “Is grunting and attempting to pull the satellite from the ground by physical force a normal part of Doctor Odinson's procedure?”

Now it's Tony's turn to sound dry and disbelieving, and he is all over that. “Satellite?” he asks, and raises an eyebrow to match Coulson. Please. Tony's a genius, and it doesn't take half Tony's intelligence to realize that SHIELD wouldn't make this big of a fuss over a falling satellite piece. He lets it go, though—that is not the argument he came here to have. “Regardless, Odinson's methods may be a little...unorthodox, but his results and his efficiency make him worth the salary StarkTech has him on.” He knows Coulson saw what that salary amounted to—Coulson might be able to keep a straight face through hell or high water, but the assistant who showed him the numbers had actually gawped. Tony's going to go right on feeling slightly smug about that.

Coulson just looks at Tony, assessing, and finally says, “I suppose Doctor Thor Odinson's records are going to be perfect down to the dental records, if I have it looked into?”

Tony just grins. “StarkTech has excellent dental insurance for employees, Agent Coulson.” Because of course both of them know Tony's never seen Thor before today—but never let it be said that when Tony Stark creates an identity from thin air, he doesn't back it up. Yesterday, Thor Odinson didn't exist. Today he has a birth certificate, a social security number, a facebook, three publications to his name, and fifteen people who will swear up and down to be his ex-girlfriends or ex-employers if Coulson tracks them down and calls them; and, best of all, each and every one of those things now appears to have been entered in the system for the appropriate amount of time, starting twenty-eight years ago. Yeah. Tony's kind of thorough, when it comes to things like this. “This has all just been one big misunderstanding, wouldn't you say?”

“He's well trained in hand-to-hand combat, for a consultant,” Coulson says, but Tony can tell by the tone that this is the last hurdle Coulson's throwing up.

Tony affects a frown and says, “What, are StarkTech employees not allowed to take martial arts lessons in their spare time? Is that a thing with SHIELD? That seems oddly dictatorial.”

Coulson doesn't sigh, but Tony can tell that he wants to. Tony's spent a lifetime irritating the people around him into sighing, making inarticulate sounds of annoyance, and, on special occasions, tearing out hair. It's practically a speciality of his.

Outwardly, Coulson just stays as cool and collected as ever. “Come with me to retrieve your employee, Mr. Stark,” he says, and Tony grins again.

“I knew you'd be reasonable about this,” Tony says, just to be a shit about it, and then he follows after Coulson into the SHIELD set-up.

…

The entire place, Tony realizes as he's walking through it, looks more like a hamster toy than an actual secure facility. Yes, alright, he understands how temporary this place is, and Dr. Foster informed him of exactly how fast it was put up—Tony can actually recognize the advantages of flimsy, easily put together buildings. Still, though, all the white tubing everywhere and pointless circular loops? Not exactly SHIELD's classiest design choices. 

Tony, never one to pass up a free chance to irritate Coulson, says, “I really like what you've done with the décor here. Very minimalist chic. I almost want to ask for your designer's number.”

Coulson's posture stays perfectly composed, without so much as a twitch of his shoulders. Tony would wonder whether he was losing his touch, but it's more likely that Coulson is actually some sort of robot in disguise than that Tony has suddenly become less aggravating. Well. Maybe not actually a robot, since Tony's fairly certain he's cornered the market on artificial intelligence, but still, the ridiculous parallel holds. Anyway. Moving on.

Tony has the distinct feeling that his scintillating conversational skills are going to be tragically undervalued where Coulson's concerned, and so he falls silent. There isn't much to look at to distract him, but Tony's perfectly capable of, say, constructing a three-dimensional model in his head of the building as Coulson leads him through it. Knowing the structure of this building could eventually come in handy—Tony's not exactly sure of how, but what the hell. It isn't like Tony's memory has any limits that he's ever found.

Tony lets himself zone out, feet following Coulson automatically as his mind changes tracks. He's curious about what, exactly, that supposed satellite really is; what would be worth SHIELD mobilizing this quickly? Even when he built the Iron Man suit, technology years ahead of what anyone else would be capable of, and used it to literally light his captors on fire, Coulson was still willing to wait for a meeting. What could possibly be so important that SHIELD would just lunge at it like vultures? Maybe—

Between one second and the next, one thought and the next, the four letters at Tony's spine burn again.

Tony knows he's stopped short, one hand pressing hard against his back, but he doesn't actually process that; his mind's already racing off. “What,” he says, “now?” Fuck, that hurts.

Coulson's immediately at his side, looking grim-faced and honestly slightly terrifying. “What is it, Stark?” Coulson asks, and Tony would answer except that the magnet pull of Loki's name intensifies. All four letters pull in one direction, hard, and Tony takes off, without a word of explanation. Chances are he's going to be tackled by very bulky, very well-trained men any moment now, but he can't not do it. The letters pull at him and Tony goes: implying he has any free choice in the matter at all would be lying.

Somehow, either luck or fate or something is on Tony's side, because he doesn't actually get plastered to the ground by Coulson's private army of agents. That mental map he made of the SHIELD compound actually comes in handy now, as Tony extrapolates the most direct route to where he wants to go and runs full pelt in that direction. It still isn't quick—damned circular SHIELD buildings with unnecessarily circuitous pathways—

Just as Tony's getting close, of course, the pull abruptly moves, changing directions. Tony changes directions so quickly that he nearly skids into a wall, excess momentum making him sloppy, and then he's off again. Of course his soulmate couldn't just stay in one place for five minutes like a normal person; Tony shouldn't have expected this to be easy.

He doesn't actually realize he's about to go careening into the center area of the building—namely, the one where the top-secret 'satellite' is under observation—until he's actually done it. There, of course, his luck runs out, and two of Coulson's guards immediately notice him. “Sir,” one of them says, in a tone that implies that Tony will either agree with whatever the guard is about to say, or find himself escorted out by force.

Tony says, inarticulately, “I just,” and lurches the extra foot forward, bringing himself into line of sight with the area below.

Tony's breath—and he knows this is cliché, but apparently the universe has a sick sense of humor, so bear with him—actually catches in his throat.

Him. Him him him.

Below, there's a dark-haired man standing with his head lifted skyward; or, Tony thinks, more than a little stupidly, turned up towards Tony. His soulmate, Tony is not ashamed to say, is fucking gorgeous: all clean lines, from the features on his face to the press of his suit, with his hair slicked back in a way that just screams arrogance. Tony wants. He just wants—he wants to reach down and run his fingers through his soulmate's hair, tug his jacket out of place, fuck up the neatness of those lines, and see if his soulmate snarls back with as much arrogance as his posture seems to suggest. He wants to pull his soulmate in and push him to the ground and follow him down, wants to learn the taste and smell of him like he's rapidly, hungrily memorizing the sight. He wants to see what color those eyes are when they're open. He just...he wants. Everything. Preferably now.

“Loki,” Tony says, but not loudly. This time, that name's all for him; Loki is all for him, real and breathing in front of Tony in a way he's never been before. He can call out in a moment, when he feels like his brain is actually functioning again and he can put words together.

Loki's eyes open and catch the light, and his expression twists into something sardonic and very nearly wounded. He reaches up with long, graceful fingers and smoothes his jacket even more perfectly into place. Tony opens his mouth, because staying quiet any longer may actually cause him harm—

Then, without a moment's warning, Loki steps away, disappearing from Tony's line of sight with one long stride, and it's as if he falls off the face of the Earth. The pull of his name on Tony's back stops, the fire at Tony's spine fades, and suddenly Tony's brain reboots itself into normal function. It feels a little like being hit in the face with a bucket of water, or sobering up quickly—it isn't pleasant.

Tony didn't actually notice Coulson's agents catching him by the arms and attempting to bodily remove him from the area when it happened—and, apparently, he also didn't realize that he was struggling hard enough to actually stay in place, and hard enough that his arms feel bruised under the guards' grips, now that he's thinking about it. He stops struggling as soon as he's consciously aware of doing it, and lets the agents manhandle him away from the area. 

“Hey,” he finally snaps, when they've physically dragged him not only from the open area but down three pathways, “am I struggling any more? You could maybe loosen up your grip there, it wouldn't kill you.” Okay. Tony is fully aware that they're just doing their jobs, and that he's just exhibited a lot of crazy looking behavior—they have absolutely no reason to let go of him. Still, right now Tony feels tired and angry and irritated with his soulmate and generally confused about what exactly just happened with his soulmate, and all that emotion has to go somewhere. 

Seriously. How does Loki keep disappearing like that? And if the pull was that strong for Tony, why the hell wasn't Loki drawn in too? Loki never even saw him, and now he's gone, and Tony's left with all this want and no outlet.

Unsurprisingly, the guards don't actually let go of him until they've actually dragged him all the way back to Coulson, who apparently settled in at a surveillance station and watched Tony's entire mad dash from what looks like a really unflattering angle. Coulson, unflappable as ever, just raises an eyebrow in reaction to Tony being physically hauled into the room.

Tony goes for cockiness in lieu of the explanation he doesn't have. “What are the relative odds that you'll believe that was me testing your security protocols as part of a random inspection?” Coulson crosses his arms and doesn't say anything. “Right. Well then, I've got an alternative for you. How about I don't use my considerable resources to find out why, exactly, SHIELD thinks a hammer that fell from this sky is worth using valuable government funds and resources to guard, we forget all about this little experience, and I go retrieve my employee?” Blackmailing SHIELD is, maybe, not the best decision Tony's ever made. He's calling emotional compromise on this one, though—he just does not have it in him, at all, to try to explain to Coulson what just happened, especially when he barely knows himself.

“Are you sure that's how you want to do this, Mr. Stark?” Coulson asks. Tony knows he's being offered an out; up to this point, Tony's been mostly neutral towards SHIELD, and this will tip that balance. He doesn't take it.

“I'm positive,” Tony says, and makes sure absolutely nothing of what he's feeling shows in his expression. He offers Coulson his best polite smile, and says, voice bland, “Are we done here?”

There's a moment where Coulson and he just stand in silence. Then Coulson says, “Follow me.”

Tony does.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. As ever, thank you all so much for the comments and kudos on last chapter; you're all wonderful. *grins*
> 
> I just wanted to throw something out there, before you start reading: I particularly want feedback on Thor's characterization in this chapter. Canonically, we're in the point in the movie where he's stopped being quite such an asshole, but before he pulls the big sacrifice play and earns back his hammer; and, to top that off, this is right after Loki told him their father died from being stressed over Thor's exile, and his mother named him persona non grata in Asgard as a whole. So I wanted Thor to come across as someone who is newly gaining some perspective on his own actions, but may still have that self, arrogant persona at times, and is kind of feeling lost and depressed on top of all the rest. Any feedback on whether I actually managed to pull that off would be welcome.
> 
> That all said, I hope you enjoy.

Of all the people Tony's ever met, Thor, Tony has to acknowledge when he first sees the guy, is probably the one who could best physically pass for a Norse god. He's got the look going for him, anyway—something about the long blond hair and the way the guy is more than half muscle, probably. Tony definitely gets a Viking vibe from the guy. Not that that makes Thor any less of a crazy person, but Tony has to give him props for living up to the image if not the reality of his claims, anyway.

“You have no idea how much you worried Jane,” is what Tony opens with, instead of hello, because he isn't an idiot. Starting with hello would give Thor a chance to ask who the hell Tony is, and that would blow Tony's carefully prepared cover story sky high. Admittedly, yes, absolutely no one involved actually believes that story—but still, Tony gets the feeling that Coulson is far less charitably disposed towards Tony now than he was before Tony pulled the blackmail card, and there's every chance that a fumble here will have Coulson shut Tony out entirely.

So he opens with Dr. Foster's name, a name that Thor will recognize even if he doesn't recognize Tony, and trusts that Thor will take the hint. It works: Thor looks up at Tony with something sad in his expression and says, almost flatly, “I did not intend to.”

“Yeah, well, I'm here to bail you out,” Tony says, “and you can tell her that yourself in about half an hour. Then we're going to have a talk about the relative merits of obeying the law versus getting your job done. Again. Take it from me, there's more to life than job efficiency.” So long as Tony talks enough to fill the silence, and Thor doesn't get a chance to say anything odd, Tony thinks they may actually pull this off. “If you'd like to uncuff my employee, Agent Coulson?” Tony asks, when Coulson makes no move to actually do so.

Almost reluctantly, Coulson does so. Tony breathes in as the cuffs come off and hopes that Thor will have the good sense not to start hitting people again; for some reason he has the feeling that Coulson's guards would really enjoy tackling both of them to the ground, given the slightest provocation. Fortunately for everyone involved, Thor seems much more subdued than Dr. Foster last described him being, and all he does when the cuffs come off is stand almost tiredly and look at Tony.

“Alright,” Tony says, and claps his hands together. “Let's get this show on the road.”

Their exit from the SHIELD compound is like the world's saddest parade, considering that it seems like every guard in Coulson's employ decides to escort them out, and every single one is armed to the teeth and throwing sideways looks at Thor. Tony would really, really like to see the footage of Thor's break-in—if this is the result he's getting, it was probably pretty spectacular. 

Thor, luckily enough, just keeps looking like someone kicked his puppy, walking with eyes downcast and a slight frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. Tony gets the feeling the big guy isn't usually this somber—Dr. Foster definitely didn't make him seem that way—but it isn't actually Tony's problem. He's here for a jailbreak under false pretenses, not to give Thor therapy; so long as it keeps Thor quiet and behaving, Tony's okay with the guy having an off day.

Only at the entrance to the building does the procession of guards finally see fit to leave them alone, which makes the situation marginally less awkward. Tony's still not going to be satisfied until he has Thor and himself both safely out of a five mile radius of this place, but he'll take small improvements where he can get them. “Thank you for your help, Agent Coulson,” Tony says, and throws as much sincerity into the words as he can. It's not like politesse will save his reputation at SHIELD by this point, but it might make Coulson less likely to taser him if he ever catches Tony with his back turned. Tony's all about the little things.

“Have a good day, Mr. Stark,” Coulson says, tone so bland that Tony can't actually make heads or tails of it. “SHIELD offers its sincere apologies about the mix-up with Doctor Odinson, of course.”

“Of course,” Tony says. What? He's used to dealing with the Stark Industries board of directors, he's perfectly capable of doing meaningless politeness. Contrary to popular belief, Tony isn't an irritating asshole all the time—just most of it. “No harm done, Agent Coulson. We're all only human, after all.”

Tony is mostly sure he just imagines the fact that Coulson looks hard at Thor when he says, “Yes, of course.” A moment later, Coulson's eyes flick back to his. “If that's all, Mr. Stark?”

Which is Tony's cue to get the fuck out—Tony's all over that. “Have a good day, Agent Coulson,” he says, reaches a hand up to Thor's shoulder. “Come on, Odinson,” he says, and tightens his grip just enough to convey the idea that he will physically drag Thor out of here if he attempts to protest leaving. Well. That Tony'll try to drag Thor out, anyway. Tony isn't exactly a slouch, physically, especially not since he took up being Iron Man, but Thor is built thicker than the average brick wall, and Tony's a realist.

Once again, Thor takes the hint, though he has enough spirit left in him to shrug Tony's hand off forcibly before he follows. That compliance lasts exactly long enough to get them out of Coulson's range of sight and about half way to Tony's car, and then Thor suddenly comes to a stop. It takes Tony a second to realize that Thor isn't moving anymore, but once Tony notices he stops and turns, with a slight sigh. Of course this wasn't going to go perfectly smoothly. Tony probably should have expected that.

Tony takes in Thor's posture—there's still that hint of sadness about his face, but Thor's body is overwhelming telling a story of petulance, planted in one place like a child refusing to go a step further until he gets his way. The problem with this, of course, is that Thor is actually big enough to get away with that sort of minor temper tantrum. “Yes?” Tony asks, and his voice goes a little condescending in his impatience.

It's the wrong tone to take with Thor, Tony can tell straight off. Thor crosses his arms, and says, “Who are you, to treat me this way?” The combination of the formal speech pattern and the childish behavior throws Tony for a second, and that second is just long enough for Thor to assume Tony isn't answering, and get irritated. “I will not be ordered about like a child, or a peasant.”

Peasant. Great. This guy is really committed to his whole 'hail Thor, prince of Asgard' shtick. Tony raises one hand and scrubs it over his face, giving himself time to respond without snapping. However much it might personally satisfy Tony to get angry in return, he's more than intelligent enough to know that this isn't the right place for it. “Look,” he says, and manages to keep his tone mostly even, “right now all you need to know is that I'm trying to help you. If you just walk about a few hundred feet forward and get in the damn car, you can get as irritated as you want, but if we stay here for too long there's every possibility we'll suddenly find our freedom to leave revoked.”

Thor just keeps standing there, arms crossed, and right, that's it. Tony's only got so much maturity to spare. “Would you get in the car, your highness?” Tony snaps, loading the title with as much condescension as he possibly can. It takes almost all of his resolve not to say 'princess' instead; but even annoyed, Tony knows where the line between 'being an irritant' and 'getting punched in the face' lies.

Apparently, though, the honorific is enough to soothe Thor's hurt pride, even said as insincerely as it was. “Very well,” Thor says, in a tone that suggests this discussion is far from over, and starts moving as suddenly as he stopped. Tony wouldn't exactly say Thor stomps towards the car—well, actually, he would, but that's only because the high and mighty attitude is definitely pissing him off—but Thor definitely isn't taking small, delicate steps, is all Tony's saying.

Tony follows, pleased at least that the whole plan to get out of here is underway, and slides into the backseat next to Thor. The driver of the company car, who has never been exposed to the craziness that is Tony Stark's life before, looks surprised at the large blond man who essentially slams into the car, and turns around to take directions from Tony with slightly wide eyes. This is why Tony is so fond of Happy—Happy, by this point in his career, wouldn't actually look surprised if a smurf got into the car with Tony, and Tony asked him to drive them both to Candyland. Come to that, actually, he should probably give Happy another raise; Happy always deserves them. “Back to Doctor Foster's,” he instructs the driver, who looks glad to have something other than Thor to focus on. “And roll the window up, please,” he adds, as an after thought, because he has the strange feeling he and Thor are about to have an excessively odd conversation.

Once the glass partition between the driver's seat and the backseat rolls up, Tony bites the bullet and starts the conversation himself. “So,” he says, “I don't know how this wasn't abundantly clear already, but in case you didn't catch Coulson saying my name twenty times: I'm Tony Stark.”

As far as Tony's concerned, this is about all that needs to be said. Not because he's that arrogant—well. Okay, yes, Tony is that arrogant, realistically, but that isn't what's driving this particular assumption. The fact of the matter is, the name on Tony's back has been a source of news since the day he was born, when a reporter bribed his way into getting a look at Tony's birth certificate and noticed that, for the first time in the history of that particular form, the box next to soulmate mark was checked 'yes.' The specific name written across Tony's back has been public knowledge since one of his first nannies released the information for money when Tony was four. Basically, Tony's soulmate mark has been media fodder for the past thirty plus years; anyone in the adult Western world is probably peripherally aware of the fact that Tony Stark has a soulmate named Loki. Given that Thor has a brother named Loki, Tony doesn't think it should be that hard to put two and two together and understand why Tony is here.

Apparently, though, it is actually that difficult, considering that Thor just continues to look at Tony like he owes the big guy answers. “You are a friend of Jane's?” Thor asks, as though that's somehow actually a pertinent question.

Tony doesn't gawp, but that's because he's used to astronomically stupid questions—it pretty much comes with his job. He does say, though, “Hey, wow, have you actually lived under a rock for the last thirty years? That's an impressive dedication to being uninformed you have there, I have to say.” 

Thor all but bristles. “Mind your tongue,” he says, and the strange thing about his tone is that he neither says it threateningly nor insultingly. He just says it as if he's reminding Tony of his proper place in their conversation—which, in Thor's opinion, is clearly far below Thor's own. This whole prince-and-peasant superiority complex is seriously getting on Tony's nerves.

Loki, he reminds himself. He's here for Loki, not for Loki's gigantic blond brother. He's doing this for one reason, and it's important enough to put up with this. So Tony just sighs and says, “Okay, let's try this again. You have a brother, right? Tall, dark-haired, really good taste in suits, name of Loki?”

Something in Thor visibly closes off, as if the regal attitude is noticeably deflating, and Tony's being left with the sedate, kicked-puppy Thor of before. “Yes,” Thor confirms, and okay, Tony makes a mental note to figure out exactly what's going on there. He's guessing that everything is not wonderful between the brothers Odinson just now. “Loki is my brother.”

“Right,” Tony says, and ignores the slight shiver that goes down his spine. This—Thor, seeing Loki from afar, the whole mess—is the closest Tony's ever been to his soulmate in his life. He's not a romantic, generally speaking, and he's not willing to believe that this thing with Loki is going to end in some perfect happy ending, but...it's important to Tony. It can't not be. “Here's the thing: your brother, Loki, is my soulmate.”

What Tony doesn't expect in response to this: Thor saying, as if the word is totally foreign to him, “Soulmate?” 

“Oh, come on,” Tony can't keep himself from saying, because there's ignorant and then there's downright stupid. “You can't be serious.” Thor's expression, and confusion, don't waver; so, yes, apparently he's deadly serious. Feeling ridiculously trite for having to use these phrases—but, seriously, how do you explain soulmates without falling back on trite romantic bullshit?—Tony says, “Soulmate, you know, the one, the other half of your soul, your perfect match—,” oh god, Thor needs to stop him before Tony stops himself, he's sounding like an issue of Cosmo.

Thankfully, that last one triggers visible recognition in Thor—and, more troublingly, triggers visible dismay a moment later. “You cannot be my brother's match,” he says, sounding almost alarmingly earnest.

Tony waves him off. “Look, I know people don't have soulmate marks anymore, but your brother and I seem to be the exception to the rule on that one—”

“No,” Thor interrupts, “you misunderstand. My brother has never born the mark of Odin's gift. He has no true match.”

Tony...well, he's just going to skip the whole 'Odin's gift' part of that message, and deal with the parts relevant to him. “I saw him,” Tony says, bluntly, “in the SHIELD compound. I don't think I could ever mistake that pull, Thor, considering that I got dragged halfway across that building to find him. Trust me. Your brother is my soulmate.”

Thor frowns, looking considering. “Did he not feel the pull in return?” Thor asks, and, right, that basically hits the nail on the head in terms of questions Tony was trying not to think too hard about.

Tony knew this wouldn't be easy, though; he's not stupid enough to think the cliches that stories about soulmates so adore were anything but cliches. This, like everything else Tony's ever really wanted in his life, is something he's going to have to work for. “No,” he says, “he didn't seem to.”

Thor's frown deepens, looking out of place when set against all the blond hair and the faint dimples to his cheeks. “Then I am sorry, Tony Stark, but my brother is not your match. Our people always feel the pull of the runes when our match is near—as, apparently, do yours. He would have felt you as you felt him.”

“That's impossible,” Tony says, because there's never been a recorded case of one person in a soulmate pair not being the soulmate of the other. The whole soulmating thing only works in twos. If it doesn't—if Tony is the only person in recorded history to be a soulmate without an actual mate—

No. Tony's being stupid—this whole conversation is stupid. “You're a crazy person who thinks he's the Norse god of thunder,” Tony reminds himself, out loud. “What the hell am I doing listening to you?” Like he said, stupid, actually worrying over something that came up in conversation with a guy who, and Tony cannot emphasize this enough, is actively delusional enough to consider himself a god.

Thor face tightens in anger, and, okay, Tony can do anger, whatever Sparky here throws at him he can more than dish out in return. A moment later, though, the anger on Thor's face fades, ending in irritated tightness. “Believe what you wish,” Thor says, stiffly, looking like he really wants to react more strongly but is holding himself back for some reason.

Tony laughs, mostly because he thinks it'll set the big guy on edge, and grins when it succeeds. “You know what?” Tony asks, and pulls a pair of sunglasses from his suit pocket to tip them over his eyes, knowing how much it irritates ninety percent of the people in his life when he does that. “I think I will.”

Unsurprisingly, it's a bit of a tense car ride after that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written during a shorter window of time than my usual, due to a number of exciting and positive things going on in my life right now (see also: going home on vacation for the weekend, my best friend's birthday, etc.) So if I missed any errors during my less-thorough-than-usual editing sweep, please feel free to point them out and I'll correct them.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for the feedback on last chapter. You're all fantastic. Never change. *grins*
> 
> Thanks especially to reader RobynLee, who pointed out a small problem with my timeline last chapter. To clarify: in this story, there's about a year between the events of Iron Man 2 and of Thor that isn't actually there in Marvel canon, because I kind of had a brain blip on my timing. I made that clearer in the chapter to come. Thanks again, RobynLee.
> 
> Minor warning for this chapter, as Tony has a very brief moment of dealing with memories of Afghanistan in an unhealthy way. That's about it.
> 
> Long author's note is long, sorry. All that said, enjoy!

Tony has only been more glad to get out of a car once before in his life. Considering that that one time was when he got out of a car, back at home finally after those months in Afghanistan, Tony thinks even taking second place in this case is definitely saying something.

Dr. Foster is sitting on the sidewalk outside of her building, and she stands when the car pulls out. The grin that crosses her face when Thor gets out of the car is pretty telling to Tony. 'Valuable evidence of what the inside of an Einstein-Rosen bridge looks like,' that's what Foster said Thor was to her—and that's probably true, but it's clearly a lie to say Foster's only empirically interested here. Tony wouldn't blame her, except that Thor is kind of a dick on top of being good looking; he'll stick with the other Odinson brother, thanks. Chances are good that Loki's also an asshole, but...well, from the look of him, he's the kind of asshole Tony likes. Which, okay, came out entirely wrong even just in Tony's head, and Tony's stopping now.

Tony steps out of the car himself, tipping the driver out of habit. The guy looks very glad to be getting away from Tony and Thor, which surprises Tony not even a little. Of course, he's only going to have to call the driver back later—he has every intention of sleeping in a hotel, thanks, not on top of Foster's roof—but there's no point in making the guy idle by the sidewalk for however long this takes while Tony chats. 

He watches the company car pull away, and then turns to look at Thor and Foster. To Tony's slight amusement, they're standing near each other, but not close enough to touch—clearly having a moment where both want to go for a hug, but neither knows if they're at a hugging place yet. Or, in other words, doing the awkward personal space dance Tony's seen in just about every soon-to-be relationship ever. Apparently, Tony thinks, even supposed Norse gods go for the 'will we or won't we' drama. Good to know.

“You got him out,” Dr. Foster says, words meant for Tony though she's mostly looking at Thor. She's not an enamored teenager, though—she does manage to turn her full attention on Tony part way through the words. 

“I'm good at what I do,” Tony says, since arrogance is basically his default setting, and smiles at her. The smile doesn't feel particularly sincere even to Tony—so sue him, he's not exactly glad he just antagonized SHIELD to get someone he doesn't even particularly like released. Not that Tony's necessarily anti-antagonizing SHIELD, especially after Fury's little stunt with the vibranium last year, but still. Usually he likes to get some personal benefit out of it, even if that benefit is as small as Fury looking like he's a step short of apoplexy. Between Coulson's ability to hold a straight face through just about everything, and Thor's insistence that Tony's mistaken about his soulmate—his own soulmate, thank you very goddamned much, as if he was that much of an idiot—yeah. Tony isn't really seeing the benefit here.

Dr. Foster's grin dims a little, her eyebrows drawing together in faint uncertainty. There's a question she wants to ask him, Tony can tell—probably about what exactly is making him act like a petulant dick, if Tony wants to be realistic here, which at the moment he doesn't. A moment later, though, her expression firms, and Tony can tell she decided to just press on with the matter at hand. “Is there any chance of recovering my research?” she asks.

Tony shakes his head. “I used up all my favors with SHIELD getting blondie here out of lock-up,” he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Thor, just in case it wasn't clear that the biggest, blondest person currently in the area was the one being referenced there. Thor makes an indignant sound at being mentioned in that way, but Tony's really not in a mood to deal with Thor again. “Shush,” he says, “the grown-ups are talking.”

Foster actually jumps to Thor's defense before Thor can do it himself. “Mr. Stark,” she says, tone irritated, and Tony actually hates being called that. She steps forward towards Tony, and for all that he has the better part of a foot on her, he can definitely see how she'd be capable of being intimidating.

Something about Foster's annoyance actually seems to calm Thor down. “Jane,” he says, and rests his hand gently on her shoulder, preventing her from moving further. She looks back over her shoulder at him, and Thor smiles at her. “You need not concern yourself. This is nothing.” That last is said with a sharp glance thrown at Tony; Tony just grins in return, enjoying watching Thor's eyebrows bunch together. Thor lets go of Foster's shoulder, says, “I will be inside when you and Stark have finished your conversation,” and then turns. His long legs have him inside in just a few steps, leaving Tony alone with just Foster.

She crosses her arms and looks back at Tony. “There was no need for that,” she says, equal parts chiding and dismissive.

Tony just raises his eyebrows. “You weren't there half an hour ago, when I pulled off the least appreciated rescue attempt ever. I don't usually like getting yelled at for forgetting my place in the middle of bailing someone out of SHIELD custody.” Instinctively, he leaves the whole matter of Loki out of it. It's not that he thinks Foster's going to go running off to the nearest trashy newspaper the second he turns his back, but, if she for some reason did, she wouldn't be the first person in Tony's life to do so. His soulmate mark is about the only thing that Tony Stark ever deliberately keeps private.

Foster visibly deflates at that, wincing slightly. Right, so clearly she was subjected to at least a little of Thor's less than polite behavior, probably when they first met. It is interesting that she apparently found something worthy of romantic interest in Thor nevertheless. Tony would say it suggests that Thor has hidden depths, except that that would require more of Tony's limited stores of maturity than he's willing to spend here. “You still could have handled that better,” she says, insistent still but less irritated sounding.

Tony has to laugh. “Doctor Foster,” he says, “There are people in the world—and I mean multiple people, including some of the people closest to me—who would tell you that that's basically the motto of my life.” Tony Stark: could have been less arrogant, more compassionate, less irritating, more mature, fill in your adjective of the day here, and wasn't. Tony would be bothered by that, except that the really important people in his life—by which he basically means Pepper, Rhodey and Jarvis—seem to love him despite all that. So. 

“I'm not going to be sorry about how I deal with Thor,” Tony says, for honesty's sake. “I am sorry that I can't get your research back, though.” He's a scientist—he does fully understand how terrible it would be to lose years of work in one day.

“So it's really gone for good?” Foster asks, clearly trying to sound unemotional about the prospect and failing. It looks like the disappointment over losing years of work trumps the annoyance Tony inspires in the vast majority of humanity—Tony's not surprised.

“Sorry,” Tony says again, “but yeah. Agent Coulson got his claws into it. I wouldn't expect to see that back.”

Foster's face visibly falls, though she tries to hide it. “Well,” she says, and between her tone and her expression it's clear she's taking the brave little soldier approach to this loss, “thanks for getting Thor out, anyway. That was a lot to ask of you, especially coming from a complete stranger.” 

Later, Tony won't be able to explain what makes him do what he does next. Maybe it's Tony's empathy for this situation—he remembers the sudden, almost hollow feeling that came with ending half his life's work when he shut down the weapons department of StarkTech, and that was something he chose to do himself, not research taken from him. Maybe it's Tony realizing that, no matter how much he might not like Thor, the guy is still Tony's only link to his soulmate, and he kind of needs a reason to stick around. Or, just maybe, it's some kind of compulsion to do with Loki, like the pull of the letters on his back that Tony can't actually disobey.

Whatever causes it, Tony finds himself saying, “Look. I may not be an astrophysicist, but frankly I'm probably fairly qualified in your field anyway, and whatever I don't know I can pick up in a matter of days. I can't get your research back, but I can stay here and help you work through it all again, if you want.” Tony's learned harder things in less time. He's not denigrating the difficulty of the field, but, well, he's Tony Stark. People don't call him a genius just for shits and giggles.

Foster's expression immediately goes skeptical. “Thanks for the offer,” she says, “but I'm not sure—”

Tony waves off her concern. “You can proofread all my work and check my math. What could it hurt? The worst that could happen is that you'd have to do it yourself, and that's what you'd be doing without my help anyway.” She still looks unconvinced, and so Tony pulls out the big guns. “Doctor Foster,” he says, “I invented the Iron Man suit from scratch in a cave in Afghanistan from leftover bomb parts under the threat of torture. I think I can manage astrophysics.” The thing about being kidnapped and tortured: so long as Tony doesn't actually think too deeply about what he's saying when he brings them up, they actually make a decent story. As long as Tony pretends those things happened to someone else—or, better, dissociates himself from the words altogether—they aren't so bad to talk about.

As Tony expected, that tips the balance in his favor. “Alright,” Doctor Foster says, and if the way she tucks her hair back behind one ear still looks uncertain, at least her voice sounds sure. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

Tony frowns slightly at the name and says, “Seriously, just call me Tony.” Even if he made whatever peace he was going to make with his old man a year ago, he still doesn't feel like 'Mr. Stark' refers to him. Howard Stark can take that title to his grave with no protests from Tony, thanks.

“Then call me Jane,” Foster—Jane—says, probably more out of common politeness than any particular fondness for Tony.

“Right,” Tony says, easily, and claps his hands together. “So. Want to get started?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, everyone. Thanks ever so much for all your lovely comments last chapter. As ever, they're absolutely appreciated.
> 
> Notes specific to this chapter: Tony and Darcy's interactions wouldn't let me not write them, so I hope you enjoy, because those two seem determined to like each other. Also, as of this chapter, I think there are about two chapters or so before Loki comes back into the story, just so you all know.
> 
> All that said, enjoy.

“Whoa,” is the first thing Tony actually hears when he follows Jane inside. Amused, Tony turns, and sees the woman speaking—younger than Jane, dressed casually, with the clear look of an intern and a familiar voice. “So you're hot in real life, too. Good to know.”

Tony smiles, because even if this thing with Loki has basically put him off casual sex until he sorts things out, he's not nearly humble enough to claim he doesn't like having his ego stroked. “You're not too bad yourself,” Tony says in return, because it's true, and also because having his reputation lets him get away with shit like that. The intern just raises one dark eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed at the cheap line—which, as reactions go, is fairly endearing. Tony's got the feeling he's going to like this one. “You're the intern who got her I-pod confiscated, aren't you?”

The intern smiles, and offers her hand to Tony. “Yeah. I'm Darcy,” she says, and her grip's firm when Tony shakes her hand. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” Tony says. “I'm guessing from the way this conversation started that giving my name would be idiotic?” Darcy's expression makes Tony grin, and say, “Right, thought so. Well. I should probably get started on learning astrophysics, but later on, I can probably do something about getting the mp3 player replaced. On a scale of one to ten, how willing are you to be a quality tester for Stark Industries?” What? It's not like the price of one mp3 player is going to make any appreciable difference to Tony's finances, and StarkTech does have a new mp3 player coming out of development. Plus, it won't hurt Tony to have one person on his side in this whole situation—and, alright, it's true that you can't buy friends, but in Tony's experience, you can absolutely bribe them.

Darcy's eyebrows shoot up when the question's asked, and she says, “Seriously? Like, no, seriously?” Tony just grins more widely, and Darcy spends another second gaping before she says, “Okay, can I keep you?”

“Darcy,” Jane says, voice equal parts resigned and disparaging, and Tony waves off her protest.

“I'm flattered, but temporarily off the market,” Tony says, because Tony's willing to think in terms of words like 'temporarily'. He hasn't quite built up to thinking about what it might mean for him if he does find Loki, and everything goes well. He's going to keep right on not thinking about that, thanks. 

“You two are going to be insufferable together, aren't you?” Jane asks, and then seems to realize the question was redundant when Tony just turns his smug grin on her. “Okay. Tony, if you wouldn't mind taking a break from flirting with my intern to learn what you'll need to know, we can start now.”

“Of course,” he says, but he winks at Darcy before he goes.

…

In the end, it takes Tony three days to pick up enough astrophysics to be useful, and Tony still holds that it would have gone more quickly if his education hadn't been a sort of piecemeal set of lessons from both Jane and Eric Selvig, given whenever one of them had time to spare. By the end of the three days, though, Tony no longer needs his math double-checked, he's making productive contributions to the work, and, though Selvig and Thor both seem to disapprove of him, Darcy's taken to calling him Tony the Tiger. He'll count that as a win and move on, thanks.

…

Tony would like it on the official record that he doesn't mean to stumble into any late night conversations between Jane and Thor. Seriously, it's just about the last thing he wants to do, point blank. Between the fact that he and Thor have so far managed, at best, icy irritated silence in their interactions, and the fact that he thinks any day now one of those conversations will turn into either Jane or Thor putting their tongue down the other's throat, overhearing private conversations between the two is absolutely not on Tony's to do list.

It happens anyway, of course, because Tony's luck is occasionally terrible. He just wants it out there that it isn't intentional, when it happens.

It goes like this:

Tony finally surfaces from a particularly tricky bit of work he was trying to wrap his head around, and realizes that it's dark outside. It hadn't actually been dark when Tony started working—actually, come to that, he's fairly certain it hadn't been lunchtime yet when a burst of inspiration hit him. Tony's no stranger to reentering the real world blearily after a long time hard at work, it's just that usually his work involves a lot more mechanical work and practical physics, and a lot less theoretical astrophysics. It doesn't exactly surprise Tony that he's equally capable of losing himself in anything he does, but it's the first time he's managed to do as much with Jane's theories rather than his own.

Around Tony, the whole lab is empty. Tony vaguely remembers Darcy leaving earlier, if only because he's fairly certain they exchanged their usual casual flirting before she left—and, hey, apparently now Tony can flirt while doing astrophysics, that's almost an accomplishment—but he has no idea where Jane and Selvig got off to. There's a fair chance one of them fell asleep on the roof again, and Tony could use a little time outside just now. Standing up, Tony stretches until his back cracks—he's going to need a back brace, with all the time he spends bent over bits of work these days—and makes his way towards the entrance to the roof.

It's only after the rooftop door has closed behind him that Tony realizes, yes, Jane is up here—but she's also in the middle of very earnestly speaking with Thor. Tony freezes in place, the residual blurriness of just having surfaced from work making him not process what's going on for a long moment. By the time his brain reengages, the door has already shut behind him, making his options either announcing his presence, trying to reopen the door without it making the horrendous squeak it always does, or standing exactly where he is and hoping they don't notice. Tired, and not particularly eager to bring attention to himself for once in his life, Tony goes for option c.

“You've just seemed upset over something,” Jane says, sounding concerned and warm and, alright, Tony understands that he has no right to hear this. Still. 

“I have been wondering,” Thor says. So that's what his voice sounds without animosity or the over-the-top arrogance; good to know. “I did not mean to concern you.”

That by all rights ought to sound like a brush off, but somehow, probably because of the earnest way that Thor says it, doesn't. “What have you been wondering about?” Jane asks, and leans in closer to Thor. If this, of all the times Tony's seen them dance around each other, is when the two actually finally get it together, Tony is going to officially know that something in the universe hates him.

“Sif,” Thor says, and his tone is so wistful that Tony winces on Jane's behalf, even as Jane leans back. Ouch. Thor doesn't seem the type to lead someone on, but the way he just said that name definitely sounds like he's in love with the woman he's talking about. Tony's surprised to find himself feeling slightly defensive on Jane's behalf. Visibly unaware of what impact that name just had on Jane, Thor says, “I have never been away from her so long, and I find it unsettling.”

Jane, because sometimes she is either a masochist or a saint, and Tony hasn't known her long enough to know which, says, her voice pointedly unconcerned, “Oh, have you known each other for a while?”

Tony can't see Thor's face from here, but he knows Thor's smiling when the big guy next speaks. “A very long time indeed. Of course, at first, we were barely friends. I did not believe in her strength, and she was most insistent on proving me wrong.”

“So what happened?” Jane asks, as if this isn't the guy she's been interested in for at least a few weeks now, and as if this isn't sounding like a cliched love story at its best.

“She defeated me in front of my brother and all our friends,” Thor says, sounding both rueful and fond. “Then I could not devalue her strength.” Thor leans in closer to Jane and says, “She is a fearsome warrior, and a better friend. You would like her.”

“I'm sure I would,” Jane says, her tone way too casual to actually be genuine. Tony kind of wants to smack both their heads together. Seriously. “Thor,” she says, “if you miss her so much, why don't you go visit her? Or just go back home?”

Thor's head drops, blond hair falling around his face like a curtain. “I am not welcome in my home,” Thor says, his voice unusually quiet when compared to its normal boom. “My brother made as much clear.”

“Why?” Jane says, clearly indignant on Thor's account.

There's a long moment of silence, and then Thor says, almost hesitantly, “My father sent me away, and the strain of it...I am told he died, while I was gone, and my mother holds me enough to blame that she will not see my face.” Jane leans in, hands instinctively reaching up to touch Thor in comfort—personally, Tony's a little stuck on the 'I am told' portion of that sentence. “I cannot fault her,” Thor says, sounding...okay, so Tony might not like the guy, but even he can admit that sounded genuinely noble. “But I wonder...my brother spoke not at all of Sif, and so I wonder whether she might forgive me. I cannot imagine a lifetime without her.”

“Can you ask your brother?” Jane says.

Thor shakes his head. “He must take on my responsibilities, in my absence. I would not burden him with questions, when he must now take a throne he did not want simply because I was a fool.”

And, alright, Tony was going with the standing in silence plan up until now, but still, “Bullshit.” The sound of his voice completely breaks the moment, and Jane and Thor both spin around to face him. “I know, I know,” Tony says, holding up his hands, “I'm intruding and unwelcome, let's take that as granted and move on to the more important issue at hand, shall we? Thor, there's no way in hell your brother was telling the truth.”

“You cannot know that,” Thor says, voice gone fierce and protective. “You do not know my brother. He would never lie about such things.”

“But he does lie to you, in general?” Tony asks, and knows he's hit the nail on the head when Thor's expression gets slightly less furious. “Right,” Tony says, and rocks back on his heels, “so. I might not know your brother, but I know the guy's my soulmate. If even half the myths about soulmates are true, that means your brother has to have a personality that could survive a long term relationship with me. As a best guess, then, your brother is probably impulsive, arrogant, extremely smart, and fully capable of lying through his teeth while smiling. With me so far?”

“My brother cannot be your match,” Thor says, and, right, Tony's not having that anymore.

“Seriously,” Tony asks, “do I need to strip right now, is that what this is?” Thor just looks at him blankly, and Tony rolls his eyes and turns around. His tee-shirt comes off pretty easily, leaving Tony half-naked on top of a roof in New Mexico in the middle of the night. It probably says something about Tony's life that this doesn't even make the top ten list of strange places he's been half-naked.

Tony can tell the second Thor sees the four letters on his back, because Thor audibly sucks in a breath, not quite a gasp but not remotely anything else. “That,” Thor says, and Tony hears the sound of fabric rustling and footsteps. When Thor finally finishes his sentence, his voice comes from substantially closer to Tony. “That is my brother's name, written in his own hand,” Thor says, and Tony smiles, more than a little smugly. Finally.

“Yeah,” he says, and turns back around. “Is that good enough for you, or do I need to keep my shirt off?”

“Please,” Jane says, sounding a little exasperated, “put your shirt back on before one of my neighbors decides we have to have a really interesting conversation.” Her eyes, though, are trained on Tony, and Tony can tell she was staring at the letters on Tony's back just as much as Thor was. He's yet to meet a person who didn't fixate on the letters written under Tony's skin.

Obligingly, Tony puts his shirt back on. “Can I finish my thought now?” he asks, and gets a mute nod from Thor in response. Which—alright, Tony's gotten shocked reactions to his soulmate mark before, but he's never had someone actually look quite that shaken over the letters before. Thor looks like some fundamental truth of his life just got rewritten, and Tony's a little confused about the intensity of that reaction. “Anyway,” Tony says, and makes himself ignore the look on Thor's face. “What I was getting at is this: to quote one of my closest friends, sometimes the only person who can stand me is myself.” Pepper's pretty fond of that phrase when Tony's done something particularly irritating—the palladium poisoning debacle of last year saw that phrase pulled out a couple of times. “And if being my soulmate means that Loki's like me, then I'm going to guess he's never taken on a responsibility he didn't want in his life.”

“What are you saying?” Thor asks, and this time he just sounds shaken, voice slightly hoarse, as if Tony's getting his point across.

Tony's had a question the whole time Thor was telling his story, and he thinks it makes his point fairly well. “Thor,” he says, “has anybody but your brother told you about your situation back home?” Thor shakes his head, and Tony says, “Then ask yourself whether he's telling the truth, or whether he might have wanted those responsibilities you left him after all.” 

Tony can see it hit Thor like a punch. The implications are, Tony has to admit, pretty staggering. If Loki lied about one thing, who's to say he told the truth about the rest? Lying to his own brother about their father's death is, admittedly, fairly extreme, but...well. Something about that whole story felt off to Tony, almost instinctively, and jackass or not, Thor doesn't deserve to be lied to on that sort of magnitude. 

“You would doubt your own soulmate so?” Thor asks, and Tony has to laugh. God. Thor clearly hasn't been made aware of most of the major developments of Tony's life, if he can ask that question. 

“Come on,” he says, “I know myself too well to ever expect my soulmate would be a good person.” The part he doesn't say is that the majority of the people Tony loves betray him, sooner or later—his father, in his own way, and then of course Obie, and Rhodey, to some degree, when he took War Machine, never mind that Tony engineered that betrayal. Of course he assumes Loki's capable of the same. Weirdly enough, it's almost reassuring to feel like he's realized it now rather than later. “And I'm not going to make the mistake of underestimating my soulmate.” Again: Loki is Tony Stark's soulmate, the one person fated to be Tony's match or whatever the truth is behind all the sentimental bullshit, and Tony knows exactly how dangerous he himself can be. No way in hell is he doubting that Loki's capable of the same.

For a moment, Thor stands without speaking, indecision clear on his face. Then the moment's over, and Thor's expression firms again. “No,” he says, “no. I know my brother better than that. He would not deceive me, not about this.”

Tony shrugs. He's hardly going to argue with Thor. He noticed something off, he mentioned it, end of the line; it's not Tony's job to convince Thor. There's always the possibility Tony's wrong—Tony's going off instinct, and no matter how loud that instinct might be just now, the fact remains that Thor's known Loki all his life, and Tony's seen the guy, once, in the SHIELD base. Maybe he's wrong after all. “Suit yourself,” he says, and turns to leave. “Just thought it was worth saying.”

“Tony,” Jane says, and Tony doesn't turn back around.

“I'll be back in the morning to work,” he says, by way of goodbye, and makes his way downstairs. He never wanted to be part of that conversation in the first place. If Thor doesn't believe him, that's Thor's problem, not Tony's. All Tony really wants to do is sleep.

Thor lets him go without another word.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, everyone. Welcome back to regular updates of this story. *grins*
> 
> First of all, sorry I went on hiatus a week earlier than I said I would. My parents decided to come for a surprise visit that weekend, and I didn't wind up having enough time to finish this chapter. On the plus side, that meant you weren't stuck with the end of this chapter and no updates for a month; at least last chapter didn't end on anything resembling a cliffhanger. 
> 
> I've really been looking forward to writing this chapter and the next few. 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys.

The main reason Tony goes in to work the next day is pretty simple: he said he would. To be perfectly honest, seeing either Jane or Thor after the conversation he stumbled into last night isn't exactly on the top of Tony's to do list. The thing is, Tony said he would, and while he might not be the most mature human being on the planet, he also isn't petty enough to avoid them; he's not five years old, no matter what Pepper might accuse him of when he's behind on his paperwork.

Fortunately for Tony, he comes in to find the place empty of everyone but Darcy, who is not so much working as screwing with the MP3 player Tony had shipped out for her.

She looks up as Tony walks in, and grins at him. "Tony," she says, managing to drag out the 'o' in his name until it's practically its own syllable. "The hero of the day."

Tony, as usual, goes for arrogance as a first response. "Aren't I always?" he asks, with a friendly leer at Darcy just for good measure. Then, more seriously, he asks, "Really, though, what brought that on? Other than a healthy adoration of my many virtues." Fun fact: it's extremely difficult for Tony to use the word 'virtue' in reference to himself with a straight face. Anyway.

"Whatever you said to Thor last night," Darcy says. "He came in this morning a little thunderous," which is clearly a terrible pun on Darcy's part, and Tony raises one eyebrow at her in feigned disapproval, "and stole Eric." Tony's other eyebrow shoots up to match the first, and she shrugs in response to his expression. "He said he needed 'counsel.' I think that means they're day drinking down on third ave, but whatever."

"And where's Jane?" Tony asks.

"She got pissed that they were having a 'no girls allowed' war council or whatever and went to track them down," Darcy says, with another shrug. "Told me to stay here and watch the fort. So now I get a day off because you freaked out Thor."

Tony grins at that. "Freaking Thor out is always worth it," he says, "but I'm glad I did it for a good cause."

Darcy looks at Tony and says, "Thor's not a bad guy, Tony." When Tony just looks at her, hoping his face conveys exactly how much he doesn't care, she holds up her hands in surrender. "Just saying. I'll still take my days off where I can get them."

Well. If nobody else is doing any meaningful work, Tony's hardly going to be a paragon of responsibility. "Celebratory lunch on me?" Tony asks, fingers tapping out an idle pattern against his thigh.

"I'm not going to be the first undergraduate to turn down a free meal," Darcy says, and stands up. "But we're doing brunch, and I'm getting pancakes."

…

In the end, it takes two days before Tony sees Thor again. Jane reappears the next day, visibly irritated, but it doesn't escape Tony that she throws concerned glances at the window closest to Thor's current watering hole when she's distracted from her work. Selvig comes in to work but leaves earlier than usual both days, and he's clearly Thor's confidante on whatever's going on there. He's started looking at Tony with something contemplative in his expression, and that's new, if not particularly informative where Tony's concerned.

Tony won't lie and say he isn't curious, for those two days, but it's not the all-consuming curiosity that drives Tony to do stupid shit. It's just...distracting. Occasionally.

…

Of course, when Tony finally does speak with Thor again, the conversation is really not what Tony would have expected, to be perfectly honest.

Tony's in the middle of recreating some of the math Jane used in her predictive model when someone walks into the area where he's working. Tony doesn't look up, unwilling to break the flow of his thoughts. “You know,” he says, only slightly focusing on the words, “this isn't something I say to many people other than myself, but you have a very elegant mind. Seriously, some of the work you did to establish these patterns is—” and Tony trails off as someone considerably taller and blonder than Jane shifts in his peripheral vision. For the first time in this conversation, he looks up, and there's Thor, standing in front of him with a more solemn expression than Tony thinks he's ever seen on the blond's face before. Some part of Tony's brain makes him finish his sentence with, “—completely meaningless to you, considering you aren't actually Jane.”

Thor doesn't bother acknowledging the obvious truth there, which is probably for the best. Instead, the blond goes with, “How seriously did you mean the allegations you made against my brother?”

Tony blinks in mild surprise, and sets down the tablet he was working with. “Look,” he says, tone deliberately uninterested, “the guy's your brother. If you say he wouldn't lie to you, he probably wouldn't, case closed, the end. I'm just the soulmate he's never met.” Tony said his piece, that night on the roof; he doesn't need to defend his opinion now. Maybe he really was wrong. It wouldn't be the first time. “And, hey,” Tony points out, tone lightening, “you think I'm a dick anyway, why the hell are you listening to me in the first place?”

Whatever Tony's expecting, it isn't for Thor to just shake his head and wave Tony's demurral away. “Yet you believe me to be wrong, yes?”

The gut instinct that made Tony speak up hasn't exactly shut up in the time since that conversation, if that's what Thor's getting at. Cautiously, Tony says, “If it were me, I'd be suspicious. That's all I'm saying.”

The expression on Thor's face goes through an interesting set of quick transitions in reaction to that: clear, visible doubt, followed by something like pained acceptance, ending with Thor's face creasing into tight, resigned lines. “I was afraid you would say as much,” Thor says, but there's nothing surprised in his voice. “Yet in my heart—I wish to believe my brother innocent, and were it only my own fate at risk, perhaps I would be able to. With Loki now King of Asgard in my place, though, such a lie could also mean danger to my people, and I cannot put that aside for my own comfort.”

Tony raises one eyebrow and says, “Okay, not that I'm not enjoying this care and share moment, but what does any of this have to do with me?”

Now it's Thor's turn to look totally surprised. “Loki is your soulmate,” he says, as though that should make everything going on here obvious. While it's a bit gratifying to hear Thor say that without doubt or questions for the first time, Tony would also like to point out that, as clarifying factors go, that one sucks.

“True,” Tony says, when a few seconds go by without Thor saying anything else, “but you're asking for my sympathy because your brother is off ruling the fictional kingdom where you're a god, and he's lying to you to keep you stranded here. Excuse me if I have a few problems with empathy here.”

“It was you who made the argument for the danger of Loki holding the throne!” Thor says, blond eyebrows drawing close together in an expression halfway between bewilderment and anger.

“Yes,” Tony shoots back, volume raising, and then stops talking as he realizes what he's trying to say. There really is no decent set of words in the English language to convey what Tony's going on here—an instinct that feels as strong as the impossible magnet feel under his skin he gets when Loki is around, an instinct that tells him that yes, there's something wrong here and Loki is probably lying, but an instinct nevertheless. Not an empirical belief, not even a conviction with proof behind it, just that nebulous, unexplainable instinct. On the one hand, Tony's not going to contradict that instinct; on the other, though, Norse gods and alien cities, really? That's kind of a big ask, expecting actual belief in science fiction just because Tony's gut won't shut up.

Thor seems to smell blood in the water as far as Tony's argument goes, because he pushes when Tony falls silent. “If I had asked you whether Loki was a danger, without first asking you to believe in my origins, what answer would you have given?”

“Yes,” Tony says, honesty propelled from him almost involuntarily.

“Then, if I said I had a way to prove the truth of my own history, would you be willing to see that proof?” Thor asks, and his tone is the closest thing to actually asking for a favor that Tony's ever heard from the blond.

“Yeah, I'm gonna go with no,” Tony says. What? He's allowed to be stubborn on this.

For a second, Thor's expression curls into outright anger—and Tony is prepared for that, Tony can absolutely take anger—and then, weirdly enough, the anger flattens out into something completely different. If Tony didn't know Thor too well by now, he would almost say that expression was calculating. “Come, Stark,” Thor says, starting to smile, “you are a scientist, are you not? Do not tell me you are not curious to know whether I speak the truth. At least some small part of you will always wonder, if you do not do as I ask.”

“You have a plan,” Tony says, not sure how it took him this long to realize that. Hell, Thor had a plan before he ever walked in here to talk to Tony; nothing Tony's said so far has surprised Thor, just made him look resigned, as if he'd already thought this all through. 

“Just so,” Thor says, and for some reason his smile looks like it has an edge of triumph in it.

“And why should I care?” Tony asks, and pointedly sits back in his chair, making his body language as relaxed and uninterested as he possibly can.

“To assuage your curiosity,” Thor says, and, when Tony just raises an eyebrow, continues with, “and because it will let you meet your soulmate.”

Fuck. That was surprisingly crafty, for Thor—they both know, as soon as Thor says it, that Tony isn't going to be turning that down. Still, that doesn't mean Tony has to make this easy. “You need me for something,” Tony says, sitting up again in his chair. Slowly, pointedly, Tony brings all his attention to bear on Thor, eyes narrowing and fixing and expression calculating in a way that scares the shit out of most people. “You don't like me, you tragically undervalue my conversational skills, and frankly I think that if Jane wasn't here to play referee I'd be wearing your fist prints on my face as a fashion statement, so clearly you aren't here talking to me aimlessly. Given that, and how hard you were working to convince me, there's something you think you need that you can't do alone. So?”

Usually, by this point of unblinking, fast-talking attention, most people are at least mildly uncomfortable. Thor, though, just looks at Tony like he's used to this sort of thing, and says, “I am, at present, barred from Asgard, as part of Odin's punishment. You, however, are the soulmate of the king. Heimdall might allow you passage where he would not answer me.”

Tony almost wants to laugh. “So let me get this straight,” he says. “You want me to help you get back to the alien city I don't believe in, so you can sort things out with your brother, who may or may not be some sort of Norse god, and I'm supposed to just go along with this because he's also my soulmate?”

Thor shrugs, smile not shrinking an inch. “If I am truly mad, and this amounts to nothing, then the worst that will happen is that you stand for some time in an open plain, listening to me shout at the sky. To hear stories told of you, Stark, that will not be nearly the strangest thing you have done.”

“It wouldn't even make the top ten,” Tony says, automatically, and then realizes what that means. “Well. Fine. Apparently I'm going along with this insanity after all.” Just to prove Thor wrong, of course. Maybe that'll be enough to make that bizarre instinct shut up, and let Tony get on with more realistic ideas about finding his soulmate. 

“One small problem,” Tony points out, when Thor's smile stretches to almost frightening proportions and Tony feels it's time to pop his bubble. “We don't exactly have a way to get where we're going.” That's, technically, a lie; Tony has his company cars, after all. Tony's not an idiot, though, he knows Pepper probably hears about his every movement from the drivers, queen of Tony-based paranoia that she is—why she still thinks, a year after he made her CEO, that Tony sneezing away from her presence will somehow ruin the company, Tony doesn't know. As far as conversations he doesn't ever plan on having with Pepper go, though, 'the story of why I parked the company car in a field for an hour while a strange blond man screamed at the sky' is pretty much up there with 'why don't I ever get paperwork anymore, I just love paperwork so much.'

“You've got a way,” Jane says, from off to Tony's right, and both Tony and Thor startle and look up at her. The look on her face is determined, and Tony already knows that whoever argues with what she says next is going to lose. “We're taking my car, and I'm going to go with you to Asgard.”

Tony is a smart man, and he's seen that expression on Pepper's face too many times to do anything other than ask, “Where are you parked, again?”

Thor, of course, says, tone and face equally stubborn, “No.”

…

An hour and a half later, Tony is standing in the middle of what looks like a really elaborate crop circle with both a victorious looking Jane and a displeased looking Thor. “I can't believe I'm doing this,” he says, mostly to himself. It's not even the truth—Tony's done far, far stupider things than this, of course he can believe this. Mostly he can't believe he's doing this on the word of a guy who calls himself the god of thunder, if he's going to be honest.

“Did you say something, Tony Stark?” Thor asks.

“No,” Tony says, waving aside this question. “Let's just get this show on the road, alright?”

Thor nods, and, after a quick look to Jane, raises his head to the sky. “Heimdall!” he all but bellows, and, right, the crazy yelling at the clouds thing wasn't an exaggeration, good to know. “I bring with me my brother's match, to reason with Loki. I have doubts about what my brother has told me, and seek the truth. If you have ever felt such doubt, open the bifrost, and bring us to Asgard!”

There's a long, long moment where absolutely nothing happens. Tony can't say he was expecting anything else, really. “Well,” he says, after the silence has time to get really awkward, “As much fun as standing around on crop circles and looking at an empty plain is, maybe we can just—”

Thor interrupts him, voice still loud for all that the words sound like they're addressed to himself. “I do not understand,” he says, and then something in his face steels, uncertainty vanishing. “Heimdall, I ask this not as the rightful king of Asgard, but as a man and a warrior who fears for my people. Open the bifrost!”

“Right,” Tony has time to get out, tone sarcastic, and then—

It's like the sky cracks and suddenly there's light all around them, a shimmering, impossible tornado of light that's nothing like the light of the sun. From under the tornado, Tony has a moment to look up—and there, at the very top, is a broad swath of foreign stars, visible in the middle of Earth's sky. Jane says something under her breath as the light descends around them, her tone fascinated and her eyes wide, as if she's absorbing everything she possibly can; Thor laughs, throws his head back, and calls out, “Thank you, Heimdall!”

Tony, for his part, goes with a very dignified, “What the fuck?”

Then the light is all around them, swallowing them whole, and Tony's world dissolves into streams of impossible movement and the cold light of distant stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcanon for this chapter, as a sidenote, since Tony's POV will never show this little fact: The reason why Thor knew how to talk Tony into going along with his idea is that he used a similar argument on Loki, throughout their childhood, when Loki wouldn't go along with a plan. Thus both the calculation and the smug smile before Tony had agreed; once Tony pointed out how alike he and Loki were in the last chapter, Thor was smart enough to use that.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. Sorry I didn't update last week, I messed up my arm pretty badly doing CPR and I apparently suck terribly at typing with one hand. Thanks for your patience in waiting a week. Just to reassure you all, I may miss occasional weeks if real life requires it, but I'll be back with a chapter the week after. You don't need to worry that this story will be forgotten about; I'm having too much fun writing it to stop now.
> 
> This chapter was supposed to be significantly longer, but my parents are pretty insistent about stealing my laptop to watch Hannibal tonight, so I'm just going to leave it at what I already had written and incorporate the rest into a longer chapter next week. This means my estimate about when Loki will be showing up is now off by a bit...but he'll be here soon enough. If not by the end of next chapter, then definitely by the one after.
> 
> Also, two more things, and sorry for how long this author's note is: One, as a reminder, in this series, Sif and Thor are (platonic) soulmates. And two, the things Jane talks about in this chapter have to do with wormhole physics, a subject I have little to no knowledge about. If it's Bad Science, I'm terribly sorry, and I'll be happy to correct it if someone knows better than I do. 
> 
> That all said, enjoy.

Asgard, Tony realizes within his first few moments there, is impossibly beautiful—and Tony does mean impossibly. Literally, laws-of-physics defying, impossibly beautiful. On the one hand, Tony really does like the aesthetics; there's something elegant in the floating, golden, shining spires, the same sort of attractiveness lingering on the edge of gaudiness that Tony goes for in his suit designs. Plus, being surrounded by so much obviously alien metal makes Tony's fingers twitch instinctively, wanting to maybe break off a piece of that metal and bring it home with him to find its practical applications. The inventor in Tony, the one that loves sharp angles and clean lines and arrogance as a fashion statement, absolutely loves Asgard.

On the other hand, physics, gravity, these are things Tony's really quite fond of, and it sort of fucks with his mind that in Asgard they seem to be suggestions rather than rules.

And then there's the small matter of the fact that he's _in Asgard_ , which means Asgard exists, which means Thor wasn't lying, which means aliens are real and Tony—

Okay, so Tony spends his first five or so minutes in Asgard with his head between his knees, trying to focus on his breathing. Aliens? Seriously, aliens? It's not like Tony isn't used to staring into the unknown—he's an inventor, and stupidly curious on top of it, he spends large chunks of his life taking things he doesn't understand and learning, building and perfecting ways to make those things known—but this is so much bigger than Tony was expecting, this is whole worlds he's never seen. Tony would dare anyone in his situation to do better.

Infuriatingly enough, of course, Jane does do better. Tony can understand why; this, to her, is the final, physical proof of her theories, basically a scientist's wet dream come true. The first thing she says when they get to Asgard isn't anything to do with the scenery, the alien world they're on, or the fact that her love interest is actually one of the aliens himself—instead, Jane says, “Oh my god, how far did we just travel? Those speeds were definitely superluminal!” To both Tony and Thor's surprise, Jane then all but lunges at Thor, dragging him into a hug that looks painful to Tony. “I'm one of the first two humans to have ever traveled faster than lightspeed, Thor, thank you! I just saw the inside of an Einstein-Rosen bridge—I—do you know what induces the negative energy density, Thor?”

As amusing as Tony's sure the rest of that conversation was, it was about then that he first realized that _he was on an alien planet_ , and then, well. Head, knees, breathing deeply in and out, the whole shebang.

Tony's soulmate is an alien. Tony's soulmate is an _alien_ , that's—okay, fuck, okay. That explains more than it doesn't, makes the mysterious disappearances and the thirty-odd years of absence make a lot more sense. Tony's just going to accept that and breathe and not think too hard about it. 

Of course, Tony isn't just left to fall apart in peace and quiet; after a minute or so, Thor's hand comes down on Tony's shoulder, and the buzzing in Tony's ears recedes enough for him to make out the word, “Stark?” Seriously, of all the times for Thor to suddenly decide to be solicitous, he picks right now?

It hits Tony, suddenly, that he's spent the last week or so being impolite to a Norse god—and, weirdly enough, it's that that finally breaks Tony free of his freak out. He's spent the last week insulting an alien god and he's fine, what exactly is a little weird architecture going to do to him? 

“Yeah, no,” Tony says, and straightens up, “I'm good. It's nothing.” He meets Jane's eyes and smiles, and then, because he's feeling strangely tolerant of Thor right now, turns his smile on him too. 

That turn means Tony's the only one facing the main body of Asgard, and as such means he's the only one who sees the people coming towards them at all but a run. He has time to get out, “Uh, don't look now, but—” and then the armor-clad, fierce looking woman at the front of the group has physically thrown herself at Thor, hard enough that Thor staggers a step backwards.

For a second, Tony's fighting instincts light up—which is dumb, he knows, both because he doesn't have the suit with him, and because these are actual real life Norse gods he's thinking about taking on—but, ridiculous or not, he spends a second ready to throw himself into combat. 

Then Thor's arms come up around the woman, hard, despite the fact that all that armor has to be digging in painfully. “Sif,” Thor says, with laughter in his voice, and he and the woman draw back to look at each other. Both of them smile so widely it looks almost painful, clearly so absorbed in each other that they've lost track of the rest of the world, and Tony looks away. He might not usually be one for normal standards of privacy, but he still doesn't feel like he has any right to be seeing this. Instead he looks at Jane, who's watching Sif and Thor with something uncertain in her eyes.

“How can you be here, if you are still mortal?” Sif asks, and Tony takes the actual question as a sign that it's safe to look back now.

“Heimdall let me pass,” Thor says, smile still lingering on his face. “It is strange, though—there was no sign of Heimdall, when we arrived.”

Tony had mostly forgotten that Sif hadn't arrived alone, until one of the guys behind her says, “With Loki on the throne, I imagine Heimdall would not risk direct support of you.” Like Sif, the man's wearing what looks to be his body weight in armor, and a sword is visibly strapped to his side—the other two guys who came with him are similarly armored. 

“Fandral, Hogun, Volstagg,” Thor greets in turn, though his smile's disappeared now. “Tell me what you mean. What has my brother done with the throne, that aiding me would be such a danger?” He's answered by grim silence, and the four of his friends all throwing glances at each other. Tony...well. Tony doesn't exactly feel smug about being right, not when the thing he was right about was that his soulmate is apparently wreaking havoc, but when Thor throws him a serious glance, Tony feels a bit cheated that he can't even feel proud about this. “I had suspicions,” Thor says, lips curling down into a frown, “but your silence tells me I do not know the scope of my brother's misdeeds. Will you not tell me?”

Sif says, very seriously, “Come. We will explain all in time, but first you must see Frigga. She has not been willing to listen to us, but with your word in support, perhaps she will hear reason in our fears.”

Thor's posture stiffens momentarily, and his voice is hesitant when he says, “Mother will see me, then?”

“Oh, Thor,” Sif says, and reaches out a hand to clasp Thor's arm. “Whatever poison your brother has whispered in your ears, it was falsehood. Your mother longs to see you, as have we all. It was only on Loki's word that you were not brought back to Asgard as soon as Odin fell into the Odinsleep.”

“Okay, hang on,” Tony cuts in to say, because as lost as he is in all this, he's pretty sure he just heard something borderline shocking. “Is that some sort of polite Norse euphemism or something? Because last I remember, we thought your father was dead, Thor.”

Sif's hold on Thor tightens, and she spits out a word that Tony can't make heads or tails of, but is willing to guess isn't particularly complimentary towards his soulmate. “I see now I was a fool for staying in Asgard when Loki made it seem to be wisdom. Better to have risked the trip to Midgard in search of you than to have let you believe your father dead. Thor, Odin lives.”

“Then I must see him,” Thor says, tone that intense, ordering one Tony hated so much when it was used on him. On Earth, that pretty much made him sound like a jackass—but Tony can see how it fits him, here, where Thor is actually some sort of prince and not just an overly superior asshole. “You will lead me there.”

The red-haired guy is the one who answers. “Of course, Thor,” he says, “but, ah. Your friends, are they...?” and trails off with a delicacy Tony wouldn't have expected. Apparently lacking all subtlety is a Thor thing, and not a Norse god thing in general.

“They are mortal,” Thor confirms, “and I will make their introductions later, but they will come with me.” 

Tony considers arguing, just on principle—he's not big on being ordered around, thanks very much—but, well. He's in an alien city, talking to aliens about alien political problems, and Tony is many things, but an idiot isn't one of them. This once, he can defer to someone else's opinion, even if somewhere on earth Pepper is probably having a laughing fit right now without even knowing why. Plus, Thor just found out his dad's alive and his mom apparently doesn't hate him; Tony's not enough of a dick to get in the way of all that, just because it hurts his pride to play well with others.

“Come, then,” Sif says, and spins on her heel to walk away, her grip on Thor never faltering.

Tony, for once in his life, shuts up and follows.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit late, guys. My area's seen a lot of flash flooding today, and my internet's been on the blink all day. Hopefully this time I can post the chapter before my browser crashes.
> 
> As for this chapter...well. It's a huge part of what I wanted to write when I first started writing this story, and I hope everyone else appreciates it equally as much. *grins*
> 
> Enjoy.

So, okay, maybe this is just Tony having watched too many bad movies in his younger years, but when Sif started leading them to Thor's apparently-not-dead father, Tony was expecting more in the way of sprinting madly towards their destination and less...well, sneaking. Thor's a prince of the realm and all that, which Tony would've thought entitled them to do whatever the hell they wanted in Asgard. 

What they actually wind up doing is walking like dating teenagers sneaking into a bedroom once the parents are asleep, crossing open areas quickly to avoid detection, and, once inside the building Sif lead them to, carefully surveying corridors for anyone who might be watching before heading down them. Frankly, Tony didn't do this much sneaking even when he was a teenager—he's always been more about flash than subtlety—and he wasn't expecting to have to start now.

After a few minutes of this, Tony breaks the silence everyone else has been so carefully keeping, and says, “Right. What the hell are we sneaking around for?”

Sif turns, and levels a truly frightening glare at him. Voice quieter than Tony's was, she all but hisses, “We do not know where Loki is, and should he find us before we reach the queen, we shall all suffer for it.”

Oh. “Well,” Tony says, not bothering to lower his voice at all this time, “not to say it was a waste to watch four people in full armor manage to sneak around, but that isn't going to be a problem. Loki's not on Asgard right now.” At that, it isn't just Sif staring him down anymore—everyone in the group turns to gape at him. Tony shrugs, and smiles maybe a bit ruefully. “Trust me. By now I know exactly what it feels like when Loki's on the same planet as I am. Since my spine doesn't feel like someone's set it on fire, we're good.” 

Thor and Jane both simultaneously go from confused to understanding, but Tony can tell the other Asgardians are still pretty much lost. “Can we have this talk later?” Tony asks. “I thought we were supposed to be dramatically dashing off to Odin's bedside or whatever.” So sue him, he isn't exactly eager to get into yet another conversation about his soulmate. He's had the soulmate talk more times in the last two weeks than in the thirty-odd years before that combined, and he's kind of not in the mood to rehash it yet again.

Jane's expression makes it pretty apparent that it's too soon for Tony to be using Odin as a distraction, but, in Tony's defense, it does work. “Stark is correct,” Thor says, and something in his expression keeps Sif and the others from asking any more questions.

Cleared now to draw as much attention to themselves as they want, they break into something much closer to the sprinting Tony was expecting in the first place. It's still not exactly what Tony was expecting, though: at the beginning the Asgardians outstrip the pace set by the mortals, right up until Sif notices what's going on and looks suddenly stricken when she realizes Thor can't keep up with her. After that point, the Asgardians slow down to match Thor's pace. Tony for the most part lags deliberately, with Jane doing the same beside him; there's probably a reason mortals aren't just running around Asgard for shits and giggles, and Tony's not keen to remind anyone of whatever that reason might be.

When they reach their destination, Sif comes to a sudden stop, not even winded, and says, “This is where the Allfather rests, and you may find your mother inside as well, Thor. Frigga rarely leaves the king's side.”

Thor's through the doorway quick as anything, and then there's the somewhat awkward moment where the rest of the group realizes that it would be intrusive to follow him in, and so they're all stuck with each other until he shows back up. Tony's used to making conversation with people he isn't particularly interested in—actually, that's practically the definition of most benefit dinners Pepper and Rhodey rope him into—but he's not sure whether small talk is actually a cross-world constant or not. Still, some sort of dull, polite comment on the weather is on the tip of Tony's tongue, when Sif breaks the silence first. “Why has Thor brought you here?”

One of Tony's eyebrows shoots up, his expression shifting towards sardonic automatically. Well. Apparently Sif doesn't believe in wasting any time, good to know. 

“I'm a scientist,” Jane says, and there's something hard in her voice, and in the way she steps towards Sif. Tony's guessing she didn't miss the way Thor and Sif reacted to their reunion, then. If Thor was leading Jane on deliberately—and that's looking more and more likely the longer they spend with Sif—then Tony's betting Jane's going to take it out on him later, and his money's on Jane winning that argument any day of the week. “The way you travel between planets has been the focus of my research for years now. I wasn't going to miss out on that.” Jane seems to hesitate, just a moment, and then she says, “And I wasn't going to let Thor come alone.”

Tony grins at Jane at that, more than a little fondly. The two of them are never going to be best friends, but her tenacity and the elegance of her thought patterns have endeared her to Tony over the past weeks. 

One of the other Asgardians—Tony knows Thor said their names, but isn't sure he remembers them right, and even if he does he doesn't know which one's which—anyway, the blond guy asks, “What of you, then?”

For the first time in his life, Tony misses the days where everyone just knew about his soulmate situation, and he almost never had to answer that question. Which, if Tony's having a pleasant, nostalgic look back on the days where his privacy was so nonexistent that everyone knew his business, probably says more than a little about how much he's not enjoying having these little talks now. “Oh, you know,” he says, nonchalance in every word, because being an asshole is pretty much his default setting, “I'm the soulmate of the bastard currently on your throne, no big deal.” He gets blank looks for that, and then remembers the terminology issue he and Thor had originally had here; digging Thor's word for it out of his memory, Tony clarifies, “His match.”

All of the Asgardians visibly startle at that, even Sif; and, for the record, it's a bit unsettling to watch four armor-clad Norse gods freak out. “That's not possible,” the blond guy says, with the tone of somebody speaking on automatic, and Tony opens his mouth to contradict him—seriously, how many times will he need to argue that he's not stupid enough to not recognize _his own soulmate_ —when the blond keeps talking to say, “we've long known Loki lacked the soul to have a match.”

Tony's jaw audibly clicks shut, and when he does speak, he knows his voice is like ice. “I'm going to do you a favor and pretend you didn't just say that.” 

Now it's the blond's turn to look surprised. “You would defend him?” he asks, and throws an arm wide, as if gesturing to all of Asgard. “After all he's done, you would defend him?”

“And what has he done?” Tony asks, hearing his voice rise and doing nothing to stop it. “Because so far, all I've seen is that he's lied to his older brother, and he hasn't exactly won the people's choice award for best king of Asgard ever. That doesn't make him a good person, but it also does nothing to show me where you get off claiming that my soulmate doesn't have a soul!” Tony bares his teeth, and in that moment he's completely willing to bring the blond down if he has to, fuck the fact that Tony's an unarmed mortal and this guy's a god. “Go ahead, then. Tell me exactly why I should be giving up on the other half of my soul.”

The dark-haired Asgardian, who up to this point hadn't said a word, says, voice level and precise, “Loki manipulated his brother to make him attack Jotunheim, in order to keep Thor off the throne. He has started a war.” His clipped tone makes it sound like a leveling of charges, and Tony has the momentary, ridiculous thought that he's never been on _this_ side of a legal proceeding before—then he dismisses the thought, and moves on.

“So he started a war,” Tony says, and smiles. It's not exactly a happy expression. “I'm going to explain something, because you have no idea who I am—I spent most of my adult life building weapons that were used to start wars and end wars and destroy lives, and those weapons weren't just sold to my own people. In fourteen years of work, my weapons ended millions, if not billions of lives. You say he's lived a millennium, and this is the first war he's started? Good for him.”

The dark-haired guy doesn't react, expression still completely neutral—the blond looks visibly surprised. It's Sif, though, who speaks next, chiming in for the first time since this conversation started. “You would ignore the fact that he lied to Thor, then, about the death of their father?”

Tony wants, badly, to roll his eyes. “Who said I'm ignoring anything?” he asks. “My soulmate's a liar and an asshole of the highest grade, but that's pretty much par for the course. If he gave Thor daddy issues, I can get Thor the fucking club tee-shirt if that makes things better.” Tony grimaces—he didn't mean to say that, he doesn't want to get into the topic of Howard with a bunch of judgmental strangers. “Anyway,” he says, voice calculatedly light now, “that still doesn't come close to making him soulless. So, what is it? What the fuck did he do, to make you all hate him?”

As things turn out, Tony never winds up getting that answer. Instead, a new voice comes from behind him, as a woman says, “You defend Loki most impassionately, mortal.”

Okay, right, Tony is absolutely done with having his soulmate insulted to his face. He spins around, temper flaring, and snaps, “I think I have a right to, considering he's my goddamned soulmate.”

The elegantly dressed woman he turned to face, instead of getting angry in return like Tony expected, simply smiles. “And I am entitled to enjoy such adamance, considering that he is my son.”

That...pretty much immediately takes the wind out of Tony's sails. “Oh,” he says, awkwardly. Of all the ways he could meet his—what are your soulmate's parents even called? Tony starts to automatically go for in-laws, and the thought makes him shudder. “Pleased to meet you,” he manages to say, mouth running without conscious supervision and for once not saying the most irritating thing possible. “I'm Tony Stark. I'm guessing you're Frigga?”

The proper etiquette there is probably to wait for her to introduce herself, but Tony isn't used to dealing with queens, let alone alien queens. If she's going to be irritated by questionable social graces, better that they both realize they won't be getting along now. Frigga just continues to smile, though, and nods her head. “I am she,” she says, and holds out her hand to Tony. 

Tony's not sure what he's supposed to be doing there—what, seriously, is he supposed to kiss her hand or start awkwardly holding it, he has no idea. He just looks at her for a moment, hoping he doesn't look as lost as he feels, and is mildly relieved when she clarifies. “Come with me,” she says, and extends her hand slightly farther. “There are things I would tell you.”

Grateful for the cue, Tony offers his arm, and she takes it. For a second he glances over his shoulder, feeling a bit guilty for ditching Jane with a bunch of irritated gods—not that Tony's entirely sure his own fate here is going to be so much better, but whatever—but staying clearly isn't an option. No matter how dainty and graceful Frigga's hands might look, the strength behind those hands outstrips Tony's by leaps and bounds; while normally he might feel a bit ridiculous for being outclassed by someone who looks a decade older than him, he's willing to use the fact that she's a god to salvage his pride on this one. Regardless, when Frigga exerts what she probably considers gentle pressure on his arm to make him walk with her, Tony nearly stumbles, and has no choice but to step where she leads. 

Instead of walking back into the room Odin's apparently sleeping in, Frigga leads him away down the hall. They walk silently, until they're out of hearing range of the others. Then, without any attempt at segue, Frigga asks, “How much do you know of how Asgardians find their match, Tony Stark?”

That one throws Tony, because he was expecting something more along the lines of a parental shovel talk, not...whatever this is. “Next to nothing?” he answers, shrugging. “I didn't even believe Asgard existed until about half an hour ago, to be fair.” Tony wants a trophy or something for the fact that he's still up and talking, rather than stuck on his hands and knees working on taking deep breaths. After the initial freak out, Tony's been really good about taking the impossibility of this in and dealing with it, and instead of being rewarded for it, he's mostly had his soulmate insulted and been dragged into weird conversations. Right now all he wants is whatever Asgardians drink instead of scotch, and possibly the curtesy of having his soulmate be on the same damn planet for once.

Frigga nods. “Thor told me as much, when he said he brought you here to make Loki see sense,” she says. “This situation, however, is even more complex than you may currently believe, and I would give you some small knowledge to help you on your way.”

Tony's all for helpful knowledge, at this point. “Alright,” he says, “go ahead.”

Frigga draws in a breath, and then starts. “You are aware that there are nine worlds, yes?” Which—okay, Tony was expecting insight into Loki's head rather than a history lesson, but if she thinks this'll help he'll run with it. He nods, remembering that bit at least. “What you will not know, I think, is that Odin does not favor the nine worlds equally. Asgard is his home, and its people answer first to him above any other; for this, Asgard has ever held a dear place in the Allfather's heart. Similarly, your planet, Midgard, has been favored by the Allfather, since he first protected your world from incursion by the frost giants of Jotunheim.” Jotunheim, the world Loki tricked Thor into attacking, apparently is the home of the frost giants, whatever they are: Tony stores away the context there, just in case it comes in handy.

“It was Odin who first gave the Gift to the nine worlds,” Frigga continues. “Thor said that on your world, the Gift is a mark bearing your soulmate's name. On Asgard, it manifests as a rune. So it is for each world: each has its own mark, unique, that allows a being of that world to find its match. Yet, when Odin favored the nine worlds with his Gift, he did not do so equally.”

Tony puts two and two together and says, “So he played favorites, and gave Asgard and my planet something special.”

“Exactly,” Frigga says. “To our two planets alone, Odin gave the pull of the mark, which draws matches together. If you have ever felt it, you know the sensation of which I speak.”

Tony snorts, unable to stop himself, and says, “Yeah. It's a little hard to miss.” Except—Tony's mind decides to play back that moment in the SHIELD facility, where he felt like the magnet pull towards Loki might actually tear him apart if he didn't follow it, and Loki never noticed Tony there. The thing is, Tony doesn't get called a genius for nothing. He's pretty sure Frigga meant to ease into this, but Tony's never liked dragging things out: his mind makes the connection, and Tony goes for it. “Loki missed it, though. The pull dragged me through a building to find him, and he never even looked up at me. So, what, he doesn't have the pull?” His mind dredges through the possibilities, instinctively calculating odds and coming up with the most likely solution. Slowly, Tony says, “Was this your way of telling me your son isn't really an Asgardian?”

Frigga, for a moment, looks both regretful and relieved. “A true match, then,” she says, and tightens her grip on Tony's arm briefly. “In mind as well as fate. For my son's sake, I am pleased.”

“Yes has a lot fewer syllables,” Tony offers, and Frigga laughs.

“I would ask that you not speak of this with the others,” she says, and Tony had already worked that much out. Whether Loki's adopted or whatever else, clearly Thor didn't know—and if Thor didn't, it's pretty clearly not public knowledge.

“Can do,” Tony says, and then, adamantly, “Fuck!” as the letters at his spine burn. “Loki's timing,” he manages to get out, through the initial burst of pain, and Frigga releases his arm and stands back.

After a moment, the pull relaxes enough that Tony can straighten back up fully and meet Frigga's eyes. He starts to say, he doesn't even know, something—this is all happening at once, and he doesn't know what he's expected to say or do—but she cuts him off, saying only, “Go.”

Tony doesn't exactly hang around to let her change her mind.

…

If Loki disappears again, Tony thinks as he runs, Tony's just going to kill him. Tony traveled this far to find him, and he's argued against Loki's innocence and for his soul, he's had to prove that Loki really is his soulmate, he's had to deal with a whole world of people curious about Loki—Tony's done so goddamned much for someone he hasn't ever even met, and if Loki doesn't stay in one place for fifteen minutes and let Tony find him, Tony's going to kill him and have it done. He thinks that's fair.

He's never been to Asgard before, and has spent less than an hour figuring out the layout of Asgard, but that's alright. The pull is a bit difficult to misunderstand, and this time it seems even more intense than it ever did before, almost as if the pull's getting as frustrated with this whole situation as Tony is. Tony doesn't think, just follows the feeling at the base of his spine, actually running full pelt through the halls of the alien city.

Then, finally, _finally_ , Tony reaches a pair of giant, ornate doors, and slips through the slightly opened one to the room beyond, and there he is. Loki, still far enough away—across, Tony would like to point out, an enormous fucking _throne room_ , what is his life—that Tony can't make out any distinct features. The burn at Tony's spine cools a little, and he closes his eyes in relief, just for a second. Then, dignified introductions be damned, he starts to run again, heartbeat pounding louder in his ears with every foot he comes closer to Loki.

Loki stands before Tony's halfway there, one hand wrapped around a rather menacing looking spear. “Halt,” Loki says, and his voice is low and dark and unyielding, which, fuck. Tony closes his eyes again but doesn't stop, just barrels blindly forward—he needs to be _closer_ —

“I said halt,” Loki says, harshly, and brings the spear up to bear. It doesn't matter, though, because now Tony's at the base of the stairs leading up to the throne, close enough to open his eyes and really see his soulmate. At this point, Loki could have an army of trained bears between himself and Tony, and Tony still wouldn't hesitate to charge his way through, the compulsion to touch is so strong.

Loki's eyes are so, so green, Tony notices, almost dazedly, and then, because he has no brain-to-mouth filter working right now, says as much. “I wondered what color your eyes were, last time,” he says, and steps up, taking two steps at a time. “I should've guessed green. It suits you.”

Weirdly, it's Tony's soulmate-inebriated ramble that saves the day, since Loki's put off-guard enough by the babble that he lowers the tip of the spear. “What?” Loki asks, clear confusion on his face, and Tony all but jumps the last of the stairs, putting himself just below level with Loki. Loki moves to bring the spear up, clearly instinctively, and Tony runs the physics in his head and responds at the right angle to push the blunt pole of the spear away with his hand.

Tony's hand meets Loki's on the spear, and they touch, skin to skin, for the first time, and—

Tony's heart, quite literally, stops. For a second that lasts forever, Tony's world shrinks to one point of contact—his soulmate's cool skin pressed against his, his soulmate, his soulmate, _Loki_ —

There's a sound in the air, like somewhere far off, ice is cracking apart. Tony can't see any cause for it, but he knows in the same way he knew Loki was lying to Thor that it's right, that he should be hearing that, and anyway he doesn't care, can't care about anything other than this.

The moment passes, and Tony's heart restarts. This time, its rhythm is a little slower, and a little smoother; Tony knows, instinctively, that its rhythm is paired now, beating the same pattern as the heart inside Loki's chest.

Loki makes a strangled, inarticulate noise, and Tony knows he's smiling so wide his face will hurt later. “You,” Loki says, in that same low voice, and Tony distantly realizes Loki must have dropped the spear because he hears it impact against the ground. 

“Loki,” Tony says, and this time the name isn't just for him, this time it's to see the way Loki's pupils dilate at the sound, to hear the way Loki's breath catches in his throat. This time it's because Loki's his, and Tony wants to see the moment where Loki realizes that.

Loki's free hand reaches out and closes around Tony's shirt, and then Tony's dragged up against Loki's body, tripping up a stair to be pulled as close as he can get, their other hands squished into the space between their chests. It's not comfortable, but neither of them need comfort; right now, it's imperative to let nothing get between them, not even air. Tony ignores the hard press of armor against him and turns his face against Loki's neck, breathing in the smell of leather and warm skin. He wants to press his mouth against that vulnerable stretch of skin, and then it occurs to him that this is his soulmate and he's allowed, and so he does.

The hand clenched in Tony's shirt tightens as he presses a single, open-mouthed kiss to the side of Loki's neck—Loki's other hand slides around Tony's back and presses at the small of his back, as if to somehow bring them closer. “Your name,” Loki says, and for a second Tony can't quite figure out what he means, just hums inquisitively against Loki's skin. Loki shudders, and says, voice impossibly, unfairly silken, “I would have your name.”

Which—yes. Tony wants to hear his name in that voice; he wants to make Loki scream it. “Tony Stark,” he says, pulling back far enough to be heard. “Tony.”

“Tony,” Loki says, and Tony has to close his eyes and ride out a shudder of his own at that. Fuck. He wants to hear that again, he wants to never hear anything else, he wants—

“Can we,” Tony starts, and loses words, tries again, “I need to,” and loses them again.

“Yes,” Loki says, as though Tony's been understood anyway—fuck, this is his soulmate, this is really his soulmate—

And then there's green light all around them, and Tony knows, somehow, that Loki's taking them away, that this is Loki's magic, that Loki wants them to be somewhere other than his throne room for this.

Tony closes his eyes, and trusts Loki to get them there.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Sorry I didn't update last week, real life went a bit wonky on me, and I spent quite a bit of time sitting by a relative's bedside in the hospital (which is, unsurprisingly, not exactly a conducive environment for writing gay porn.) Now things have settled back down, said relative is doing much better, and regular weekly updates will be recommencing.
> 
> At least I come bearing apology porn?
> 
> Also, no one hate me, I promise the end of this chapter isn't actually a fade to black. It's just...I wrote three pages worth of feelings porn (which is much harder than kink, I'm just saying), and I'm tired and I need to sleep, so I figured splitting the porn chapter in half was better than missing an update. So this week is porn part one, and next week is porn part two. ...I'm a ridiculous human being, I know.
> 
> Enjoy.

The _there_ in question, Tony finds out about fifteen seconds later, is probably some sort of bedroom. He says probably because it's not exactly like he stops to check out the architecture. There are four walls and a ceiling and a door between them and the rest of the world, and Tony gets exactly that far in his train of thought before Loki's pressed him up against said door, and then thinking doesn't really seem all that important, point blank.

“Fuck,” Tony says, because it's maybe the one word he can call to mind right now. The wood of the door presses hard against his spine, and all around him there's Loki, who seems to be trying to erase any space between them: Loki, who presses bodily up against Tony, resting his arms on either side of Tony's head and curling Tony into the curve of his body. It should feel confining—in any other situation it would, Tony's not a huge fan of restricted motion—but here it doesn't, here it just feels like Tony should be doing anything he can to make them closer. If Tony were anyone else, there's every possibility they would just stay like this, pressed as close as their separate bodies can manage, breathing together.

Thing is, though, Tony isn't anyone else, and thirty odd years without this have left him skin hungry. He reaches his hands out of the cradle of their bodies to press at Loki's back, stroking up and down supple leather that's still no substitute for bare skin. He wants—Tony wants everything, at once, everything he's ever tried or thought about trying, but first he wants substantially less clothing on both of them, and the freedom and time to do everything else.

It feels wrong, somehow, to break the silence between them. Tony leans forward, bending slightly, and sets his mouth to the hollow of Loki's neck. The skin there is pale and cooler than Tony's own, and impulse makes him breathe out warmly before chasing the heat of his own breath onto Loki's skin with his tongue. Loki shudders at that first touch, the movement so minute that Tony would never have seen it with any distance between them; this close, it's impossible to miss, and speaks of want more clearly than words could. Tony smiles, and presses his lips to the soft skin of Loki's neck: first a kiss, gentle and pressing, and then a sucking bruise to take its place, Tony leaving his mark behind.

Loki's hands clench, and then move, sliding into Tony's hair and tilting his head up with just enough pressure to verge on pain. Tony tips his head back into it, pressing against Loki's thin fingers approvingly, and smiles up at Loki. “Hi,” he says, quietly, because his soulmate is inches away, is real and breathing and here with Tony, and Tony realizes that they skipped right past hello when they met. “So, you're my soulmate, and I'm your match. Wanna fuck?”

Loki laughs, looking like Tony surprised him into it, looking surprised with himself for laughing, and Tony can't not lean up to kiss him in that moment, sealing Loki's laughter between their lips like a promise. It's a soppy thought, Tony realizes—but fuck that, it makes Tony happy to think he makes his soulmate laugh, it makes him smile into their kiss, and Tony isn't going to apologize to anyone for that.

The kiss turns open, wet and oddly seeking, and Loki tastes foreign against his tongue, tastes like something Tony should know but can't quite put a name to—Tony chases the taste, memorizing the feel and the smell and the press of Loki, learning the feeling of Loki's lips against his. Loki's fingers curl through Tony's hair, cradling the back of Tony's head and stroking gently, and for a moment Tony doesn't know whether to press forward into the kiss or backwards into Loki's touch, practically paralyzed by the multitude of options stretching out before him.

Tony being Tony, he responds to uncertainty by pushing, by taking everything on offer and more: one of his hands runs up the length of Loki's spine to Loki's neck, pressing Loki even closer into the kiss, and the other runs the opposite way, dropping to grab a handful of Loki's ass and squeezing.

Loki lets out a noise into Tony's mouth that Tony is about ninety percent sure is a growl, and thrusts forward. It's strange, because Tony almost hadn't noticed he was getting hard—but Loki rocks them together, half-hard cocks rubbing and sliding against each other through layers of clothing, and it's like a switch flicks on, and suddenly Tony is nothing but _want_. He breaks the kiss to pant, breathlessly, into the sharp line of Loki's jaw, and uses his grip to pull them together again. He can feel Loki's hipbones against his skin through the leather, he can feel _Loki_ , and when their bodies connect it pushes Tony back against the door almost hard enough to hurt, and Tony wants all of it, wants more. 

“Come on,” he says, and sucks Loki's earlobe into his mouth because it's there and he can—his hand falls from Loki's neck to draw nonsense patterns down the length of his back, memorizing the curve and arch of Loki's spine, feeling the way the muscles at the small of Loki's back tense and release as he fucks forward against the line of Tony's cock. “God,” Tony says, more breath than sound, against the hollow of Loki's ear, “I can't decide whether I want to fuck you, or have you fuck me—either way, we're wearing way too many clothes, come on—”

“For a man who could scarcely say three words in a row just moments ago,” Loki says, and normally a partner being able to string that many words together right now would make Tony feel like he'd messed something up, but he gets the feeling Loki is just like this: always articulate, with that low, smooth voice that hits Tony's libido like a sledge hammer, “you are very wordy now, my Tony.”

The possessive—fuck, Tony isn't expecting the moan that bubbles up in his throat, and it escapes too fast for Tony to do anything but muffle it against the skin of Loki's throat. “Fuck,” he says, lips shaping the word almost soundlessly. “My name in your voice right now, Loki, you don't even know,” and he presses back up for a kiss. It lasts only a moment before Tony breaks for air and says, “I'm serious, clothes need to come off, now.”

Loki raises one dark eyebrow, and the unaffected facade would probably work better if Loki's lips weren't kiss-swollen and flushed, if the blooming mark left by Tony's mouth wasn't starting to darken against the skin of his neck. “As you wish,” Loki says, and draws back, letting air fill the space between them for the first time since they first touched.

The reappearance of distance between them makes the letters on Tony's back flare back into burning life, and Tony hisses at the pain and stretches out his hand, clasping his fingers around one of the belts wrapping around Loki's torso. “I can't,” Tony says, and then gives up and steps closer to Loki. Without the space, Tony's words come back. “My soulmate mark is pretty insistent I not let go of you right now,” Tony says, the irony of the situation not lost on him. “Sorry.”

“I need no apologies from you,” Loki says, almost idly, arousal and thought blending in his expression, and Tony wants to laugh for a second at how ridiculous this all is. Then Loki's hands are on him, riding up under Tony's shirt to stroke upwards, tracing up the length of Tony's chest and taking his shirt up as he goes. “Is this enough contact?” Loki asks, and Tony, testing, lets go of his death grip on Loki's clothes before he actually nods. Looking pleased with himself, Loki pulls Tony's shirt off with one hand, leaving the other splayed possessively over the curve of Tony's ribs, and Tony lifts his arms, totally uncaring of where his shirt winds up once it's off his body. “We undress each other, then,” Loki says.

Tony looks at the mess of belts, metal and leather than makes up Loki's clothes, and snorts. “Easy for you to say,” he says, and then, “god,” when Loki's hands drop to toy with the button of Tony's jeans, teasing pressure just above where Tony really wants it. “Fuck,” he gets out, through clenched teeth, “can't you just magic off your clothes are something?”

Loki does the goddamned single eyebrow thing again, and Tony—maybe Loki's control is good enough that he can do sarcasm right now, but Tony's isn't, and he thinks maybe it's time to give his soulmate a little motivation. 

Loki's pupils visibly dilate, black swallowing the green of his eyes, as Tony sinks to his knees, hands sliding down the backs of Loki's legs to steady himself. “You might want to figure that one out,” Tony says, maybe a little smugly, and then he seals his lips around the head of Loki's leather-covered cock and sucks. Loki makes a sound like he's been wounded, and Tony hums against the leather pressed against his tongue.

Tony's not exactly surprised when, one flash of green light that leaves dots dancing across his vision later, the only thing beneath his mouth is skin. “See, I had faith in you,” Tony says, because, okay, maybe he's got enough control to be a little bit of a dick. Then Loki makes an unamused, throaty sound and slides his fingers back into Tony's hair, and alright, Tony knows when to take a hint, especially when that hint is his goddamned soulmate, standing eager and bare in front of him, looking like miles of beautiful pale skin with a gorgeous cock, and all Tony's.

“Fuck yes,” Tony says, and leans in.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, please nobody kill me for missing last week. I managed to screw up my immune system from lack of sleep, and frankly no one wants to read anything I write while sick. On the plus side, I come bearing three thousand words of porn, so there's that.
> 
> Here's porn part two. Enjoy.

If someone had asked Tony before today how he felt about giving head, he would have said he liked it. He always did—at least a little bit because it's something he's good at, and Tony's always liked being able to show off, but also just for the act itself. Tony likes the taste, the aching feeling that builds in his jaw and lingers afterward like a reminder, being that close to another human being. So yeah, Tony would have said, before today, that he liked it just fine.

As of today, though, like is officially an inadequate word. Tony's absolutely going to come up with a better one at some later point, when he's a bit less...distracted.

Later, because right now he's got what seems like miles of skin to play with, his hands running up the backs of his soulmate's legs, and the head of Loki's gorgeous cock brushing his lips. Tony darts out his tongue, licking just enough for a tease that works on both of them, and, yeah. Right now, this. Everything else can come later—nothing else can compare right now.

“Tony,” Loki says, the name halfway to a warning, and Loki's fingers tighten in Tony's hair. Tony grins, a bit helplessly, and slides a hand to wrap around the base of Loki's cock, curling around cool skin and giving an easy stroke.

“I've got you,” Tony says, and maybe it's a reassurance to Loki or maybe it's just Tony needing to hear it—he has Loki, he's found him, Loki's his, and fuck if that isn't almost as necessary to Tony right now as the sex itself. Almost being a keyword. “Fuck,” Tony says, and then stops talking, because what good are words when Tony could be swallowing Loki down, pressing until the circle of his lips meets his fisted hand on Loki's cock.

Loki groans, and Tony flicks his eyes up to watch his soulmate's face as he sucks slowly back off, enjoying the weight of every inch sliding over his tongue. Loki's looking down at him, green eyes swallowed by black pupils, and so Tony—well. Tony did say he liked showing off.

Tony pauses with just the head still in his mouth and sucks, riding his tongue along the slit of Loki's cock, and Tony knows what he must look like right now, eyes half closed and all but moaning around Loki's cock, Tony knows and doesn't change a thing, just closes his eyes and tries to memorize the taste of Loki's skin. The hand he has on Loki's dick picks up a rhythm, and Tony slides his mouth down to meet it, sucking his soulmate down and playing his fingers over the scant inches left, the head of Loki's cock just barely pressing down Tony's throat—

And then he pulls his hand back and just goes for it, swallows Loki down completely, nose pressed into the soft thatch of hair above Loki's cock—and god, it's been a while since Tony's done this, he'd almost forgotten how much he likes the fullness of it, he's going to feel this for days—

He sucks, hard, and Loki's knees actually buckle a little bit, the grip on Tony's hair suddenly practical as Tony supports his soulmate's weight. Tony pulls off and looks up at Loki, slightly concerned, but Loki looks more dazed than anything. “Bed,” Tony suggests, because he's not up to full sentences right now, his voice already going rough at the edges and his breath coming in pants.

Loki presses his thumb across the slick circle of Tony's lips and says, “Yes,” equally roughly. Hopefully the bed is close—Tony doesn't have it in him to go far—and he gets lucky, because it isn't, Loki staggering back maybe six steps before dropping to sit on the edge of a bed. Tony eyeballs the distance, contemplates standing, and decides it isn't worth it—Loki watches him, a smug, aroused grin stretching his lips, as Tony crawls the distance between them.

“Don't get used to it,” Tony manages to get out, and then dips his head and licks the length of Loki's cock, base to head, tracing the line of a vein and watching Loki's dick bob from the pressure. When he wraps a hand back around Loki, the skin rides slick through his fingers, and Tony spends a few seconds just watching his fist slide up and down the length of his soulmate's cock, watching the flushed head disappear into the curve of his fingers on the upstroke and the foreskin slide down on the way back. 

“Don't tease,” Loki says, when Tony's grip eases, content just to curl his fingers possessively around the sweet curve of his soulmate's cock and stroke gently. Tony looks up, meets Loki's eyes, and smiles—it's because he's watching that he gets to see Loki's head tip back in pleasure when Tony takes him back into his mouth, gets to watch Loki's neck curve in a way that suddenly seems obscene, showing the bruises Tony left there earlier to their best advantage. “Suck harder,” Loki orders, and Tony obliges, taking Loki deeper, harder, hollowing his cheeks around the width of Loki's dick.

Loki looks back down at him, pleasure written over his face and green eyes shut nearly to slivers, and then lets out the most ridiculously hot moan Tony has ever heard in his life, this gasping, aching sound that makes Tony's cock twitch in sympathy, and Tony closes his eyes and moans in return, the sound muffled by the slick slide of Loki's dick over his tongue, and wants—

Tony reaches up his free hand, trailing his fingers up the line of Loki's stomach and ribs, searching blindly for his soulmate's mouth. He finds Loki's cheek instead, but Loki turns into his touch, obliging, his lips pressing softly against Tony's fingertips. Tony presses in return, running a finger along Loki's lips until Loki takes the hint and opens to him, sucking Tony's fingers into his mouth and running his tongue along them. For a few long moments, Loki sucks him like an echo, mimicking on Tony's fingers what Tony is doing to his cock—and Tony has the fingers of an inventor, he's got hands designed for precise work and sensation, he feels that wet contact like Loki's got a direct line from his fingers to his cock—and then Tony breaks the synchronicity, pulls his fingers away wet.

They're wet enough for what he wants with them, Tony judges, and drops his hand to curve under his own jaw, questing along the soft skin of Loki's inner thighs, under the weight of his balls, and then curling over his perineum, rubbing one knuckle gently over where it will do the most good. Loki moans again and arches his hips towards Tony, fucking his cock deeper into Tony's mouth and giving Tony the access he needs in one movement.

Tony circles his fingers around the small, soft edge of Loki's hole—not pressing in, just toying, catching his calluses gently at the rim. Reluctantly, Tony pulls his mouth back, far enough to pant a breath and ask, “Alright?”

Loki looks down at Tony, and Tony can't help coming off his knees for a moment and pressing up to kiss him. Tony's lips are slick and swelling, oversensitive, but the kiss he brushes over Loki's lips feels right, both of them panting into each other's mouths, messy and close and perfect. Loki's the one who breaks the kiss, but it's only to say, “Yes, of course. Let me—,” and then Loki pulls away to pluck something off a table beside the bed, dropping a glass jar beside himself on the bed.

Norse god lube, okay, Tony's all in favor. His hands are nearly shaking as he reaches for it, and he steadies himself enough to get the top off, dipping his fingers in something thick and surprisingly pleasant smelling. He reaches back up and puts the jar back on the bed, when he has enough—he's fairly certain they're going to need that again later—and if he was anybody else he would probably feel anxious right now, unnerved at how much he wants this—

But he's Tony Stark, and damn straight he wants this, so he doesn't over-think. Just drops his fingers back to Loki's skin, dancing tiny patterns over his hole, spreading the lube.

The first finger presses in easily, easily enough that Tony knows Loki must do this often—must lay in this bed, spread out like a feast, one hand curled around his cock and the other fucking fingers into himself slowly, indolently—and the image is good enough that Tony groans, dropping his face to mouth along the skin of Loki's thigh. “I can take more than that,” Loki says, like he doesn't realize how fucking close Tony is to coming in his pants like a teenager right now, and if Tony thought Loki's voice was pure sex before he had no idea what it would sound like now, rough and fucked out and low. “I'll not break, you fool—”

So Tony presses in, seeking, and shuts his soulmate up, words giving way to a moan when Tony finds what he's looking for. He crooks his finger in, massaging his fingertip directly over Loki's prostate, and Loki's body all but spasms, trying to press towards Tony's finger and away at the same time. The look on Loki's face at that much direct sensation is gorgeous, so clearly torn—and Tony takes mercy and fucks his finger out and back in again, avoiding Loki's prostate for the moment and focusing on the stretch and clench of his body.

Tony comes back with two fingers, and then, when he thinks Loki can take it, three—and Loki's body just lets him in, accepting the stretch and press of fingers more easily than any other lover Tony's ever had, like his body is greedy for more. “Tony,” Loki says, when Tony has three fingers curled in him, and Tony—Tony wants to see Loki come even more than he wants to fuck him, wants to see that beautiful sharp-edged face contort in pleasure, so he turns his head and sucks Loki's cock back down, letting Loki fuck upwards into his mouth even as Tony fucks him with fingers, taking everything Loki's body can give him—

When Loki comes, his body jolts strongly enough that Tony worries, through the haze of arousal, that it's going to tip Loki off the edge of the bed and down to the floor with Tony—and then he isn't thinking anymore, because Loki's come spills out onto his tongue, Loki weakly fucking up into Tony's mouth as his balls draw up, and Tony tastes salt and that foreign taste from Loki's mouth, and swallows, keeps swallowing until it's clear Loki's tipped over the line from orgasm into oversensitivity, and then pulls back. Loki's sprawled out on the bed now, half lying down with his legs hanging over the end, and Tony smiles smugly at the satisfied curve of his soulmate's body, and licks a drop of come from the corner of his mouth. He did that, he's the one that made Loki look like that, Loki's his.

Tony stands, ignoring the twinge in his knees for the more important task of getting his pants the fuck off—seriously, they're strangling, just the pressure Tony needs to put on his zipper to get it open feels a bit like torture—and when that's done, settles down on the bed next to Loki, stroking his cock idly. “Hey,” he says, and reaches out a hand to run it down the length of his quiescent soulmate's stomach, “are you still in there?”

Loki's eyes open, green gaze drifting down the line of Tony's naked body, and finally settling on watching the slow stroke of Tony's hand over his cock. “Mm,” Loki says, and it's the most self-satisfied sound Tony's ever heard in his life—which is saying something, considering Tony himself is a pretty old hand at self-satisfied. “I certainly am.” Then Loki stretches, his whole body curving into the motion, and Tony isn't used to feeling this fond and this turned on at once, but hey, his life is full of new developments today. “Give me a moment,” Loki says, tipping his head towards Tony's stroking hand, “and I'll find better use for you than your hand could provide.”

Tony huffs a laugh at that, still weirdly stuck between arousal and fondness in the face of that ridiculous haughtiness. “I'm really feeling the love there, babe,” he says, and fakes an offended look because his soulmate is the goddamned Norse god of lies and mischief, and if Loki can't handle Tony screwing around in bed then Loki is seriously in the wrong line of work. Laughter still in his voice, Tony turns his back to Loki and says, “I might just stay over here with my hand until I feel appreciated, who knows.”

He expects Loki to either call him on his bullshit and move on to something more interesting, or to decide to play along and, again, move on to something more interesting. What he doesn't expect is complete silence in reaction. Feeling slightly concerned, Tony looks back over his shoulder and asks, “Loki?”

And—oh. Loki doesn't answer, because he's looking at Tony's lower back with something hungry in his eyes, nearly fixated. “You wear my name on your skin,” Loki says, and his voice has gone dark and low again, possessive and wanting and fucked out all at once, and Tony shivers faintly at the sound. 

Loki stretches out one hand to Tony's back and covers each of the four letters with one of his fingertips, and it's so much like Tony's habit that he has to swallow and close his eyes for a second, because—everyone always touches the mark, every lover he's ever had, because curiosity is a pretty strong motivator, and much as Tony understands that he's never liked the feeling before. This, though, this is Loki touching his own name on Tony's skin, not out of curiosity at all; this, unlike any other touch to those four letters, feels right. The magnet pull of the letters under Tony's skin, for once, reaches out straight for Loki, pull met by direct pressure from Loki's fingers—and maybe it still burns a little, but it's settling, as though the mark already knows it's done its job. Voice nearly hoarse, Tony explains, “This how soulmates—matches—find each other, on my world.”

“Lie down on the bed,” Loki says, and it's nothing less than an order, leaving no room for disobedience. Tony does as he's asked, sprawling out on his stomach, hissing slightly as his cock brushes up against the mattress; he's tempted to just rut against the mattress until he comes, an easy, undignified release, but then Loki says, “Be still,” and Tony obeys.

Then Loki's mouth is pressed to the small of Tony's back, giving each one of the letters a closed-mouth kiss in turn, and the staying still thing becomes significantly harder. “Loki,” Tony rasps out, and Loki rewards the sound with a scrape of teeth, bearing down against the 'L' almost hard enough to hurt, almost as if he expects the letter to scrape off with the pressure. It isn't going to—of course it isn't going to, Tony could lose all the skin from his back and when it regrew the mark would still be there, dark and clear as the day he was born, letters unwavering—and Tony could tell him that, but Loki makes a small, pleased noise when he lifts his mouth and the letters are untouched, and so Tony just closes his eyes and lets him do as he pleases.

And what he pleases—Loki presses his mouth back down, licks softly over Tony's skin, and then seals his mouth and sucks, teeth and suction working to bruise Tony, and Tony moans, knowing the upper curve of his ass is going to to be marked for days, Loki marking his own mark—

Each letter gets a bruise, carefully and forcefully pulled into lying just below Tony's skin, and then a kiss when Loki's done, lips pressing like a balm over the flaring spots of pain, the burning pull of the letters indistinguishable from the sharp ache of the bruising, and by the time Loki gets to the last one, Tony's hard enough that it hurts. “Not for nothing,” Tony gets out, “but I'm going to be useless if you keep that up—Loki—”

Loki lifts his mouth from the small of Tony's back and trails it up Tony's spine, stopping erratically to kiss or nip at the faint swells of Tony's vertebrae, stopping to suck another darkening bruise into the back of Tony's neck. Tony can feel Loki's smile in the press of his teeth against Tony's neck—when Loki's done, he pauses for a moment, Tony's body cradled in the curve of his again, Loki pressing him down into the mattress solidly. Then Loki breathes out, air rushing along the back of Tony's neck, and says, “I would have you fuck me, if you think you can last.”

Tony shuts his eyes hard and says, “Yes. I can try, yes, please.”

It's so easy, Loki still wet and fucked open from earlier and Tony so turned on he can't see straight—Tony just has to turn over on the bed, Loki holding himself up over Tony's body, and then Loki's settling back and sliding Tony into him with one hand, the head of Tony's cock catching on the lip of his hole and then sinking in smoothly—it's easy, and good, and Tony knows he probably won't be able to last after all. Loki sinks down onto him, the curve of his ass settling into the dip of Tony's hips, and for a second Loki just stays there, Tony sunk deep inside of him, looking over Tony like a king surveying his domain. Then Loki pushes himself up and rides Tony, his lean body easily strong enough to make the movement seem effortless, and Tony's caught between watching his soulmate's body take his cock and arching up to meet Loki, using what little leverage he can get against the mattress to match his soulmate's arching thrusts. 

Loki's more than half hard again, cock rising slowly upwards towards his stomach, and Loki wraps his hand around it and throws his head back, clearly putting on a show—but Tony doesn't care if it's a show, he's watching Loki's Adam's apple dip as his soulmate swallows against the pleasure, watching Loki's dick harden fully between his fingers, feeling Loki's body clench around Tony's cock, Tony's pretty sure this qualifies as the best sex of his life and he doesn't want it to end—

He can tell when a thrust hits against Loki's prostate, because his soulmate's face tightens, this time just in pleasure without any of the overstimulation of before. Beautiful, Tony thinks hazily, beautiful, and angles his hips to help keep them in position, and now almost every thrust is pulling that same look of half-befuddled pleasure onto Loki's face, and Tony's bruises are rubbing against the mattress and adding the faintest tinge of pain, and Tony feels—Tony is—

“Fuck,” Tony gasps out, and then he's coming, almost without warning, thrown completely over the edge with searing pleasure racing through him, practically undone.

Loki fucks him through it, riding it out with him, until Tony's panting and completely useless, cock starting to soften inside Loki—and then Loki slows and sits, keeping Tony's softening dick inside of him, and his hand strokes faster, jerking himself off with Tony still inside him, and that—

Tony musters enough energy to keep his eyes open and watch, watching Loki's grip change, tighter with faster strokes, curling over the head, pleasure plain on Loki's face, until finally Loki's head drops back and his body jerks, shooting white lines of come along the skin of Tony's stomach and Loki's own fingers.

Loki sits up then, just enough to let Tony's soft cock slip out, and then drops down on Tony, not so much cuddling as covering Tony's body with his own. Tony feels his eyes slipping shut, sleep sounding like a fantastic idea right now, but manages to say, “We should clean up, or—”

Loki waves a hand, and suddenly the sticky lines of come are gone, and Tony has never been more a fan of magic than he is right now. “Sleep,” Loki says, more than a little irritably, and Tony realizes he's smiling.

“Yeah,” he gets out, and throws one arm up over Loki's body, and lets his eyes close.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? A double update this week?
> 
> Yeah, I've decided to make an exception this week and put out two chapters instead of one. Frankly, I'm really excited to write the next arc of this fic, and my lovely tumblr followers seemed equally as excited by the prospect of a double update, so here I am, not only updating this fic twice in a week but also putting out a new chapter closer to noon than midnight. Neither of those things is probably ever going to happen again.
> 
> Also, a shout out to reader Winrael, whose birthday is today. Happy birthday. :)
> 
> I hope you all enjoy.

Tony wakes up, and for a second he has no idea where he is, save that he's laying in a bed that definitely isn't his, and there's the weight of another body pressed along the length of his. Tony keeps his eyes shut, feigning sleep, while he tries to make his groggy mind remember the night before—he doesn't remember having picked someone up, but clearly he did, and he's probably already overstaying his welcome just having fallen asleep—he's got no clear memory of who he's with, beyond green eyes and dark hair—

Then he wakes up properly, and his mind actually kicks in, and, oh. Loki. 

Tony huffs a laugh at himself and lets the tension drop out of his muscles, relaxing back into the bed. Well, mistaking your soulmate for a one-night stand is probably a faux pas, but considering Loki's still sleeping, Tony thinks he just won't bring it up. Loki's body is curled over his in a heavy sprawl, somehow possessive even in his sleep, and every slow breath he lets out brushes against the skin of Tony's neck where Loki's head is resting. Between the contact, and the slow, shared heartbeat Tony hasn't adjusted to yet, it's almost enough to drag Tony back down into sleep—besides, Tony's about ninety percent sure it isn't morning yet, which means nothing to someone on Tony's sleep schedule, but probably means he should try to sleep so he doesn't actually wake Loki.

It's curiosity that winds up keeping Tony awake, because normally Tony can't sleep in close contact with someone for this long without overheating wildly. Instead of the sweaty, uncomfortable tangle Tony was expecting, the skin where he's in contact with Loki is pleasantly cool, and so Tony opens his eyes to figure out exactly how Loki's managed that one.

For the first time since he woke, Tony gets a good look at his soulmate.

It takes pretty much all of Tony's concentration to change the sound that wants to leave his lips into a deep exhale instead, but he does manage it, not wanting to wake his soulmate. Who is, Tony would just like on the record, currently a fairly interesting shade of blue from head to toe. Blue. No, really.

Tony takes a deep breath, and then lets it out. Okay, he knew Loki wasn't an Asgardian, Frigga covered that much, and so clearly, whatever Loki is, he's naturally blue. That's—okay, that's a little weird to take in all at once, but clearly Loki's still perfectly healthy despite suddenly being blue, so this is probably just how he looks normally. The pale skin Loki wore yesterday was probably some sort of illusion—probably magic, Tony realizes, and grimaces faintly, still not quite adjusted to the fact that magic exists—which would make sense, considering that Thor doesn't know his brother's adopted. So. Tony's soulmate is blue, this is still not the strangest thing to happen to him in the last day or so. Tony thinks he can handle that one.

Loki shifts in his sleep, one hand sliding further across Tony's chest to rest over the arc reactor, and Tony feels a frission of discomfort run down his spine before he quiets it by force. Loki isn't going to hurt him, Tony knows that; just the thought of hurting Loki starts this sick, twisting feeling off in Tony's stomach, and Tony assumes that's probably mutual, part of whatever it is that makes their hearts beat in paired rhythm. Loki isn't about to do anything to the arc reactor, or to Tony. It's just...Tony's a little cautious when it comes to the arc reactor, and apparently that caution applies equally to his soulmate as it does anyone else in the world.

That's a conversation they're probably going to have to have, Tony realizes. _Hi, honey, so you turn blue and I've got a tiny power source keeping my heart intact, what would you like for breakfast?_ Just the thought is enough to make Tony laugh, though he manages to suppress it enough that it doesn't disturb Loki. He always knew finding his soulmate wouldn't simplify his life, but seriously, they've made it maybe eight hours so far, and already they've got at least two serious conversations they need to have.

Perfectly happy to put those conversations off for now, Tony just settles in comfortably and starts to adjust himself to the sight of his blue soulmate, figuring it'll probably be better to be used to it before Loki has a chance to wake up and notice Tony's blatant fascination. 

Loki's skin is worth the fascination—it's this deep sapphire color, smooth and cool to the touch, almost like Loki's got a core of ice muffled somewhere under layers of skin. Thin, raised lines stretch across the length of Loki's body, forming intricate winding patterns across his skin. The lines don't look like veins, but there's definitely something moving in them—and, Tony realizes, the flow through the lines is this slow, minute pulse on every part of Loki's body save for the areas where he's in contact with Tony's body. There, the lines pulse much quicker, like whatever is beating through them comes awake where Tony touches it. Whether that's because of the heat of Tony's body compared to Loki, or because of the whole soulmate deal, Tony has no idea. Overall, that tiny pulse through the lines gives an almost serpentine impression, making the weaving lines across Loki's body seem almost alive; it's strange and beautiful in basically equal parts, Tony decides.

Everything about this just feels so—domestic, even if the word makes Tony cringe a little bit. He's laying in bed with his soulmate, both of them totally naked and pressed together head to toe, but there's nothing sexual about it. Loki's head rests in the hollow of Tony's neck, he's got one arm across Tony's chest and one leg tangled with Tony's, his quiescent cock rests against Tony's thigh, and here Tony is keeping quiet to let Loki sleep in, and memorizing the look of his soulmate's skin. If someone had told Tony a month ago that he'd be here today, he probably would have laughed at them.

Tony doesn't know how long he just lies there—long enough that Tony starts working on schematics of his newest Iron Man redesign idea in his head, so that he doesn't get bored—but eventually he feels Loki starting to stir at his side, and puts aside the Iron Man ideas for later. “Hey,” he says, softly, when Loki's breathing changes and it's clear Loki's waking up. Tony's wanted to touch Loki for a while now, and gives into the urge, carding his fingers gently through Loki's hair. It feels ridiculous sappy, but it also feels right, and so Tony focuses on the latter and firmly ignores the former. “Sleep well?”

Loki presses his face further into the curve of Tony's neck, almost like he's trying to use Tony's body to block out the dawning light coming in through the windows, and Tony finds himself smiling almost involuntarily. “Well enough,” Loki says, voice husky with sleep and muffled by Tony's skin.

And if the moment were less comfortable, less...alright, less sappy, then Tony might not ask what he does next—but with things as they are, with the two of them pressed close and tangled together easily, Tony figures it's safe to just ask and get it over with.

“So, not that I'm complaining or anything,” he says, still toying idly with Loki's hair, enjoying the way his soulmate is basically melted against him, “but do you always turn blue while you sleep?”

He means it to be a harmless question; it clearly doesn't turn out that way. In less than a second, their shared heartbeat rockets, Loki's body goes stiff as a board against Tony's, and Tony has just enough time to think _oh fuck_ before everything goes straight to hell.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter. I'm actually mildly incoherent right now, sorry; this chapter took a while to finish, because it fought me a lot.
> 
> This chapter needs its own trigger warnings. I'm very serious about this. They're all in the end note to this chapter, and fair warning, they do spoil the chapter, so if you think you'll be okay without them, please don't read the end note until the very end. If you even think you might be triggered, please please read the end note and decide for yourself.
> 
> I hesitate to say enjoy here, like I usually do. So, uh, read on.

Tony doesn't even realize Loki's moving until, suddenly, the cool weight pressing down on Tony's body is gone, and his arms are empty; by the time he's processed what the hell is going on, Loki's already gone from the bed, standing a few feet away with this _look_ on his face like he's in pain. Green light sparks, Loki's magic dancing over his skin, and for a few seconds Loki's skin changes, blue fading back into the same pale skin he wore last night—then the magic fades, and Loki turns blue again. Loki makes a small, terrified noise and his magic flares again, fades again, and then just he keeps doing it, watching his skin bleed slowly back into blue each time with an expression of increasing horror.

Tony has no clue what's going on, but he knows he can't let his soulmate keep doing whatever he's doing, not when it makes him look so hurt. “Loki,” Tony says, his tone equal parts confused and intended to comfort, because god, Loki's looking down at Tony like he's never seen him before, and Tony can't stand that expression. He sits up, one hand reaching out to Loki, meaning to—Tony doesn't even know, to pull him back down to the bed or hug him or, fuck, even just to remind his soulmate that Tony's here.

Loki actually shrinks away from the contact, stepping backwards to avoid Tony's touch, and it's like the attempt sparks something off in Loki. Suddenly, the pain on his face turns to visible fury—for all that Loki's still standing naked in front of him, Tony can see the moment where all vulnerability gets shut away, and that nakedness no longer equates to intimacy. “What have you done?” Loki says, and his voice is cold and cutting, accusation lining every word.

It takes Tony by surprise, and so Tony doesn't quite have time to shut down his own honest reponse. “What?” he asks, confusion putting a slight tremor in his voice. “Loki, I haven't done anything. I don't even know what you're talking about.” Only a minute ago, it felt like Tony could say anything, and none of it would be wrong—now, Tony's honesty feels almost dangerous, like a soft spot that's going to be used against him, and Tony doesn't know what changed. He doesn't know what went wrong, except that clearly, something did.

Loki sneers, and Tony feels his heart sink. “You lie,” Loki says, and he sounds so utterly certain that Tony's protests die in his mouth before he can voice them. “Tell me what you have done to me.” Tony shakes his head, trying to figure out what the hell the right thing to say is, and Loki seems to take the movement for denial rather than confusion, because he says again, voice low and full of genuine menace, “Tell me.” 

Menace. Menace, from Tony's soulmate, from the one person he—stupidly—believed wouldn't ever be a threat to him. “Are you serious right now?” Tony asks, his tone flat. “You're threatening me. Really. You turn blue in your sleep and it's actually worth threatening your soulmate over? Your mortal, non-magical soulmate, I'd like to point out, who wouldn't have a damned clue about how to do...whatever it is you're accusing me of.” He doesn't know what he's expecting Loki to say— _haha just a joke let's go get breakfast_ seems unlikely—but at least some small part of him is holding out hope that Loki will realize what he's doing and stop. 

That...isn't what happens. “For centuries, I was given the peace of an illusion, the treasured pretense that I was not a monster. One night with you, and I am stripped of that illusion, and the power to return it.” Loki's all but hissing the words, by the end, and there's something frenzied in his expression now. “Continue to deny your part in this,” Loki says, “and I will not ask so gently.” And that—Tony can't—fuck.

“Fuck you,” Tony says, and now his voice is sharp too, all attempts at being conciliatory gone. “All I did was wake up next to you. Whatever's wrong with you,” and he's getting, now, that there is _absolutely_ something wrong with Loki, “it has nothing to do with me.” He pushes himself up and off the bed, opposite the side Loki's on; Tony just wants to get out of here, out of this room and possibly off this goddamned planet too.

With the same nearly inhuman speed of before, Loki's on him before Tony knows what's happening, pressing Tony bodily against a wall, hard enough that the bruises along his back ache at the pressure. It feels like some sort of sick parody of last night: the same position with none of the intimacy. “Oh, no,” Loki says, and his voice is laced with condescending amusement, with false, crooning affection, “you do not get to leave so easily.” Loki smiles, and at this distance Tony can see each and every one of his white teeth as they're bared. “Come now,” Loki says, “are we not bound together at the very soul?” The mocking sweetness of his tone makes Tony feel sick, and he tries to wrench away—as easily as if Tony's no stronger than a child, Loki stops him, catching Tony at the wrists and pinning him to the wall behind him. “Should there not always be honesty between us?”

“You want honesty?” Tony says, and hides away the uneasy feeling being restrained stirs in him, hides away his confusion and hurt and surprise, covering it all with a sharp-edged smile. “Fine, _sweetheart_ , let's be honest. Because, honestly? Right now I'm thinking that you're sick in the head, in need of serious professional help, and not _nearly_ a good enough lay to make up for it. Now let me go.”

Loki squeezes Tony's wrists between his fingers, hard enough that the bones of Tony's wrists rub together painfully, and suddenly the saccharine tone is gone. “I am a _monster_ ,” Loki says, and every word gets louder until he's roaring out the words in Tony's ears, “a Jotunn _beast_ , and you have stripped from me my ability to forget. Do _not_ think to mock me now.”

That's...oddly naïve, coming from Loki. “Oh, grow up,” Tony spits out, “there's no such thing as a species of monsters, okay, they don't come helpfully color coded for your convenience. You wanna call yourself a monster, go ahead, I'm hardly about to stop you right now—but don't pretend there's anything or anyone to blame for that but your own goddamned choices.”

Loki huffs out a disbelieving laugh, and says, incredulous, “My choices?” One of his eyebrows raises, and he says, “Do you truly believe I would choose any of this? Yesterday I was king of all Asgard, and today I am no better than a monster, with nothing gained in the exchange save a pathetic mortal match. You are one final insult from the universe, a match who will wither and die like some feeble insect—and yet you speak of _choices_ , as if you would ever be mine? This is no choice—this is the Norns taunting me, this is a cosmic _joke_.”

Tony laughs in Loki's face, and it's not even close to being a happy sound. “Wow,” he says, his tone biting, “your issues make mine look tame, it's great. The whole universe is out to get you, huh? That's just fantastic, glad we've covered the fact that you're batshit crazy this early on—”

There's no other way to describe what happens next: Loki throws him against the wall, using his grip to wrench Tony forward and then shove him back. It hurts like hell, Loki's strength more than enough to make the impact count even across so small a distance, and Tony doubles over, pain racing along the line of his back. 

Thing is, the soulmate bond is really not a fan of people doing physical harm to their soulmates—and Tony can feel the way that pain doubles back on Loki, lashing at Loki's body with far greater force than Loki inflicted on Tony, enough to bring the god stumbling to his knees. Tony laughs through the pain, and it's this dark, angry sound that Tony's never heard himself make before. “Feel better now, sweetheart?” Tony asks, and the words sound _vicious_ in the air between them. Loki looks small, suddenly huddled against himself on his knees, and Tony thinks, with a fierce sort of satisfaction, that it's well deserved.

When Loki next speaks, it's like Tony isn't even there any more. “This will ruin everything,” Loki says, with a tone of dawning realization. “No Frost Giant could ever sit on the throne of Asgard.” The words sound almost like an echo, like they're something Loki's heard before rather than a new thought.

Tony shakes his head and laughs again. “You have no idea how much I don't care right now,” he says, because honestly? He's done. He's just done. 

Loki looks up at Tony, and there are honest to god tears in Loki's eyes—not spilling, yet, just there. For that second, Loki looks oddly helpless, looks lost, and despite himself Tony feels the smallest hint of sympathy, this tiny thread of affection that's easy to crush out. “I will not be worthless,” Loki says, defiantly, as though that was what he and Tony were talking about at all, as though Tony was somehow claiming he was.

And then, in a flash of green light and smoke, Loki's gone, leaving Tony naked, bruised, and alone.

“Fuck,” Tony says, and leans back against the wall. He just feels...hollow. Like something was just carved out of him by force. It was stupid of Tony to hope, to think that finding his soulmate would somehow turn out well—but for all that Tony claimed, even to himself, that he didn't want anything out of this, he just—he should have known better. That's all. It's stupid of him to feel this hurt. “Fuck,” he says emphatically, and slides down the wall slowly to sit against the ground, to put his head in his hands and just—

He doesn't cry. He just breathes, in and out, very slowly.

“Should've known better,” Tony tells himself, almost as a reminder, and his breath hitches on the words.

He sits there a very long time, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter: Fighting between a couple that escalates to violence. Verbal cruelty from both partners. Involuntary restraint of one partner by the other. Repeated insults about one partner's mental health (given in the context of the restrained partner lashing out with words). Really severe internalized racism on Loki's part. To be clear, none of this violence is sexual in nature, and sexual violence is never even threatened; however, physical and mental harm are deliberately done. If anyone would like further clarification of these warnings before they read, please feel free to contact me either here or on my tumblr, and I'll very happily talk them through with you.
> 
> I have a lot of rationale for why this chapter happens the way it does, and I'll be happy to discuss any part of that. Comments, questions, thoughts or concerns left either here or on my tumblr will absolutely be answered and discussed this chapter (I'll make time, if I don't have any.) 
> 
> The next chapter will be up this Friday.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Hi, guys. Sorry about that unannounced hiatus I went on? *Sheepish face*
> 
> As an explanation for my absence: As some of you may already know from following me on tumblr, I spent this summer training to be an EMT, and have also been participating in the Frostiron big bang. In an unlucky coincidence, my word court deadline for the big bang happened to be a week before my state testing for EMT certification, and I just didn't have enough time to do everything I wanted to. Unfortunately, what had to give was the thing that didn't have a built in deadline: or, in other words, my regular fic updates.
> 
> That's now over, however--I'm fully certified, and have met my wordcount, so regular updates are recommencing. None of my stories are abandoned, and it'll be a while before RL gets that crazy again, so for the foreseeable future everything should be okay.
> 
> That all said, enjoy.

In the end, there's only so long Tony can spend sitting naked on a stone floor before his body decides to loudly register its complaints with the situation—because, as it turns out, regardless of fights with his soulmate, regardless of the fact that Tony, for once in his life, wants to just stop thinking and avoid the hell out of the real world for a little while, the physical discomfort of having his ass go numb from sitting on a frigid marble floor still trumps anything else.

Tony huffs a laugh at that thought, scrubs his hands across his face and through his hair, and then makes himself stand. His clothes are scattered in really random places, he's covered in bruises that have started to ache faintly, and he's—well, fuck, the rest of his problems are fairly obvious. This really isn't Tony's best morning ever.

In the interest of not thinking too hard about that: clothes first, some sort of food after that, dealing with the repercussions of what just happened much later. Tony can do that.

…

Halfway through pulling on his shirt, Tony goes stock-still, feeling...something wrong, he can't really articulate it fully. It's as though, between one moment and the next, the rotation of the planet just goes slightly off kilter, and Tony can somehow feel it. Tony shivers, and is only half-aware of the fabric of his shirt sliding down his arms; the other half of him is focused somewhere else, somewhere distant and cold.

Then the mark on Tony's back starts to ache dully, and Tony realizes why he's feeling the way he is: because it isn't really _him_ feeling it. It's Loki, who's in that cold far-away place, and somehow the bond between the two of them lets Tony feel it. Tony didn't realize this would be part of the soulmate bond, being able to feel what Loki feels and measure the distance between them by the tension in the bond—Tony gets the feeling that if he wanted to, he could slide further along the bond and slip under Loki's skin, looking out from behind Loki's eyes to see whatever place it was that Loki ran away to.

Anger sparks in Tony, and Tony pushes the strange feeling away, forcing himself to focus only on his own body. He doesn't want to have to feel Loki right now; it feels like a sick parody, realizing what the soulmate bond could be capable of, and then remembering the reality of what he and Loki have. Tony pulls his shirt on maybe more forcefully than he really needs to, and ignores the hell out of the bruises littering his skin until the cloth covers them and he doesn't need to see them any more.

Well. If Loki went off planet, if Loki ran away from an entire world just to get away from Tony, why the hell should Tony stick around?

…

The first sticking point, of course, is that, in order to get off the planet, Tony needs to find Thor and Jane—except, he pretty much has a snowball's chance in hell of finding them, considering Tony doesn't even have a single clue as to where _he_ is. Last night, Tony wasn't exactly in the right mindset to ask where Loki was transporting them off to, as long as there was a bed and lube around when they got there. This morning, well. This morning, Tony wishes he had done a little more asking for directions, and a little less of everything else. 

Still, Tony isn't exactly the type to sit around and wait it out until someone comes to find him—if he just picks a direction and starts walking, eventually he'll either find what he's looking for, or find someone who can point him in the right direction. Considering he's in the middle of a royal palace, Tony figures there have to be servants wandering around somewhere, and sooner or later he'll bump into one. 

And if anyone he finds balks at the idea of giving a mortal wearing yesterday's Black Sabbath shirt directions to their prince—well. Then they're going to learn, really quickly, exactly what a pissed off, determined mortal is capable of.

…

“Stark,” Thor says, when Tony finally walks into the right room, and the sheer degree of concern in Thor's voice—Thor, who's never even _liked_ Tony—probably means Tony looks worse than he feels right now. “Are you well? Where is my brother?”

That question, of course, is enough to get the rest of the table looking at him. Thankfully for small mercies, the long table only has four people sitting at it—Thor, Jane, Sif, and Frigga herself—and not every other one of Thor's Asgardian buddies. Not that Tony cares what they think of him, of course, but he's fairly certain Frigga's going to take one look at his face and somehow realize what happened with Loki, and he really doesn't want a ton of witnesses to that moment. Honestly, Tony doesn't really want to have the conversation he feels coming on at all; he has the funny feeling, though, that he won't get a choice in the matter.

That doesn't mean Tony isn't going to at least _try_ to deflect, though. He laughs, pushing cheerfulness forcibly into the sound, and says, “Relax, would you? I'm fine. Though maybe a little hurt no one thought to invite me to breakfast.” Weirdly enough, despite everything else, Tony really is hungry; it seems like in the aftermath of...everything, hunger shouldn't really be a concern, but apparently his stomach didn't get that memo.

“We thought you'd be...busy,” Jane says, with only a slight, wincing hesitation before the last word, like she realized mid-sentence how obvious that euphemism was. “There's still some food left, if you'd like.”

“You know what?” Tony says, and makes his way to a chair. “That sounds like a great idea.” Food, with the added bonus of having an excuse not to talk: Tony's all in favor of that.

Except, as he's sitting down, he meets Frigga's eyes, and the expression in them makes it clear that Tony's time is up. Her tone perfectly pleasant and civil, Frigga asks, “My son is no longer on Asgard, is he, Tony Stark?” Somehow, it doesn't feel like a question—or, at least, it feels like a question Frigga already knows the answer to.

Okay, so he is having this conversation after all. Fuck. That's—Tony can deal with that, it's okay. Tony closes his eyes for a second, steels himself, and then opens his eyes to meet Frigga's gaze evenly. “No,” Tony admits, and his voice comes out sounding perfectly calm and untroubled, like Tony doesn't have a goddamned care in the world. “He's not. And that thing we talked about? It's not exactly hidden any more.”

“What?” Thor and Jane both say, almost in unison, and Sif's expression shifts to one of clear surprise. Tony doesn't feel like dealing with any of that, so he doesn't; he ignores the three of them completely, in favor of focusing on Frigga.

For just a second, there's visible sadness, and something like disappointment, on Frigga's face. Then she shakes her head faintly, and says, her voice still impressively even, “Then we are left without a king, in a time of impending war.”

Which—right, Tony hadn't really considered that aspect of things. In his defense, he was a little busy with his own problems. Now that it's been pointed out, though, the problem seems ridiculously obvious. “You've got Thor,” Tony points out, mouth running on automatic. It's a stupid thing to say, even with a limited knowledge of how Asgardian politics work; obviously, if Thor's essentially human right now, an ancient race of god-like aliens isn't going to be thrilled with the idea of him as their king.

Thor actually corrects him before Tony can get around to it himself, though. Looking unusually solemn, Thor says, “Yet I am still a mortal, thanks to my father's punishment. I have to return to your world, and regain Mjolnir—without it, and my powers, I am no fit ruler of Asgard. My people respect me, but it would take a fool to follow a mortal into war against the Frost giants.” Anger and frustration cross Thor's face, but here, in his home environment, Thor seems more in control of his own emotions—instead of acting out, he just shakes his head, heated emotions cooling to resignation. Then Thor looks at Frigga, and says, “You could hold the throne in my father's stead, mother. It is your right, as his match.”

Frigga raises one eyebrow, and the gesture immediately looks familiar—Tony's throat tightens, as he realizes where his soulmate picked that particular mannerism up from. “I am no shieldmaiden, Thor,” Frigga says, clearly dismissing the notion.

“You are a capable fighter, and a master of magic,” Thor argues.

“And what of your father?” Frigga says, and Tony can tell from Thor's expression that Frigga's about to win this argument. “What would happen to Odin, if I were to fall on the battlefield, with him still in the Odinsleep? I cannot lead the armies of Asgard.”

Sif leans forward, then, and says, “I could.” Tony, surprised, looks at Sif—he's pretty sure Jane's doing the same, across the table from him. Both of them get totally ignored, since Sif's a little busy throwing a faintly challenging look at Thor. “It is no less my right, as the match of the firstborn prince.” Which—what? Tony's fairly certain he does a visible double take, because, seriously, you don't just spring that sort of knowledge on people in conversation without warning. “If you doubt my valor, or my courage—”

“I do not doubt you,” Thor says, and reaches up to clasp a hand on Sif's shoulder, smiling at her. Sif leans, ever so slightly, into the touch—and suddenly, yeah, Tony can see them as soulmates, as what soulmates are supposed to be. “My people will follow you, if you lead in my name, and they will be all the stronger for having you at their head.”

“You're soulmates?” Jane asks. Her voice doesn't tremble, and she doesn't hesitate on the word—she just asks it like she would any other question, with the same curious tone—but Tony thinks the delayed reaction itself says more than enough about her emotional state. 

It's clear that Thor hears something in the question that he doesn't like, because his next words are oddly insistent: with a tone that seems to indicate he's clearing up everything, Thor says, “Yes, a warrior's match.”

Which clears up...pretty much nothing, actually. “Oh,” Jane says, sounding exactly as uncertain about what that means as Tony is.

So Tony, who's had his own shitty romantic experience today, does her a favor, and steps in to change the topic. “Well,” he says, and reaches for something that looks like a scone, entirely done with politely refraining from eating, “now that we've settled that little succession crisis, can we discuss getting off this planet? Preferably as soon as possible, if nobody has any objections.”

And, in the one bright point of Tony's day so far, no one does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few (long, sorry) end notes:
> 
> First off, we've finally hit the point in the story where Loki's POV becomes important. So, I have a question for you lovely readers: would you prefer that I alternate chapters between Loki's POV and Tony's POV (the events would be happening fairly simultaneously, in this case), or write out a chunk of Tony's side of the story, and then backtrack and do a few chapters of Loki's POV of the same events? Either way, both sides are going to be told, it's just a matter of aesthetic preference how that gets done.
> 
> Secondly, as a head's up, I'm planning to write two to three short side stories, covering what Thor, Sif and Jane were up to while Tony and Loki were all wrapped up in each other, and also explaining exactly why Loki's magic has been behaving the way it has. Those short stories should be up sometime this week, or next week at the latest. I'm still debating over whether to make them their own side series, or include them directly in this series, so I'm not a hundred percent sure where I'll be posting them, but I'll link to them sometime in the next few chapters when I figure that out.
> 
> And, finally, as ever, if you got this far and enjoyed, any questions, comments, or concerns you might have are important to me, and I'd like to hear from you. Drop me a note here, or, if you like, on my tumblr, if there's something you'd like to discuss: http://skollwolf.tumblr.com/


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Hi. I'm back. There are longer notes at the end of this chapter, dealing with logistical things, but a few things before the chapter starts:
> 
> First, I'm sorry for how long it's taken me to get this chapter out. Please be aware that I haven't had time to write anything for three months, and so I'm feeling a little rusty right now. Go gently on me, please, until I can get back into the swing of writing.
> 
> Secondly, as requested by many readers, this story will now be alternating Tony's and Loki's POVs to tell their individual sides of the story. This is the first Loki chapter, and tells his side of the story starting from when he left Tony after their fight: as such, it's set a little before the previous chapter was, chronologically speaking.
> 
> And, finally, Loki is in a very dark place right now. TRIGGER WARNINGS for this chapter include: really really extreme internalized racism (against Jotunns), self-hatred, very low self-image/self-esteem, and brief self-harm (not linked to any suicidal ideation or impulse, and not premeditated.) If any of these things seem likely to trigger you, read with caution. You can always contact me either here or on my tumblr if you want me to further clarify these warnings before you decide to read.
> 
> That all said, enjoy.

Loki's magic is quick enough to carry him away from the room in which he awoke, when he calls upon it—away from the sick atmosphere of that place, away from the twisting feeling of worthlessness and despair that has sunk its claws in deep below his skin. In this, at least, his magic will not betray him: though his skin is still that terrible, despicable blue, though his magic refuses to allow him the peace of mind that illusion brings, at least it is quick enough to carry him away from his shame, when he calls upon it.

Yet, that very same magic is equally quick to spit him out, sending him sprawling on the floor of his workroom rather than allowing him a more graceful landing. If Loki did not know better, he would say that his magic was displeased with him, as though punishing him for the events of this morning—but that would be a foolish belief, and he knows it to be so. His magic is no sentient thing, to make such judgments of its own accord. Moreover, his magic would never choose to favor the weak, useless mortal who calls himself Loki's match, not over Loki himself. That creature, who stripped Loki of his skin and his throne in one fell swoop, and gave him nothing in return save the basest of comforts, would never be capable of bringing Loki's magic to bear in his defense.

Still, here Loki finds himself, all but thrown to the floor of his workroom in his retreat, with even his magic out of his control. Here he finds himself, with everything in the nine worlds he values lost to his reach.

Loki bares his teeth at the empty air before him, and wrenches himself upright. He refuses to allow himself such weak thoughts, refuses to remain defeated and pathetic on the ground. The Norns have never been kind to Loki, and if now they laugh at him outright from where they watch over Yggdrasil's branches, well. Loki has no need of their kindness, nor their pity. He has earned victories without their help before, and he will do so again. Let them laugh—Loki will find a way to wrench some triumph from their very fingers if he must.

Above all, Loki will not allow himself to be worthless; he _cannot_. 

And so he puts aside all thought of what has passed, turns his eyes away from the sickening color of his own skin, and thinks of a way to undo what has been done to him.

…

The worst of it is—and Loki will never admit this to himself, pushes it out of mind every time the thoughts threaten to surface—for those few short hours, Loki had felt _whole_.

If Loki had been as strong as he ought to be, he would never have allowed the mortal close enough to touch; that was his first mistake. It was that very first touch that ruined him: feeling his heart suddenly thrum in its altered rhythm, feeling the way all of his awareness suddenly seemed pinned to that one place where skin touched skin, all thoughts of his throne and his duties immediately fled, and Loki was lost. From that moment to the very moment he woke, it was as if there was nothing else in the nine worlds but himself and the mortal.

( _Tony_ , some corner of his mind provides, rebellious and weak in its insistence. Loki crushes it before he can be made to think of the name, and of everything that comes with it.)

It would comfort Loki, if his memories of that night were blurred by the near frenzy he descended into, a haze of insensate pleasure and overindulgence causing him to forget the details in the morning. Unsurprisingly, however, Loki's fate is nowhere near so kind as that. For all that his time with the mortal felt urgent, driven, and almost drunken in its departure from normal life, still Loki finds that he cannot forget a thing. The feeling of the mortal's bare skin still lingers on his fingertips, his mouth yet carries the taste of sweat and skin and the warm, demanding touch of the mortal's mouth, and his body yet carries the marks the mortal left on him. Worst of all, Loki remembers still the feeling of utter elation that nearness to the mortal brought, still remembers what it felt like to be, for the first time in all his life, complete.

The memory is as torture to Loki now, and he turns from the very thought of it.

And—perhaps even more reluctantly still—Loki remembers this morning also. He remembers what it was like to wake warm, and wrapped in the arms of another; for all that Loki has woken in the arms of lovers before, this was the first time he woke and wished to stay exactly where he was, to drift back off to sleep in that embrace. So too does he remember what followed that waking: the first, awful realization of his skin's betrayal, the sudden surge of fury and disgust, and the words that fell like bile from his lips, burning in his throat and twisting sickly in his chest. 

He remembers the very moment that the mortal's face knotted in the same disgust and hurt that Loki himself felt, the perfect match to Loki's state even then—and he remembers the pain that soared down his spine and brought him to his knees, when he threw the mortal aside. It does not pain him to think of—it cannot, or Loki is weaker than he thinks he is.

If he mourns for the loss of whatever bloomed between himself and the mortal last night, that growing connection that he tore apart by his words and his own two hands, then it will make him pathetic beyond saving. What god cares for happiness of some mortal ant? What king spares a kind thought for the useless creature that steals away his throne? Not this god; not this king. Never again will such weakness rule Loki.

He thinks of none of this, carefully—pushes it aside until the thoughts lie shadowed at the very depths of his mind, where none of them can touch him. There they simmer, and twist and turn upon him, seeking to do him harm, but Loki does not allow it. Loki thinks of none of this, _none_. Loki is not so weak, so worthless, as to allow such thoughts to take hold.

…

For the first hour, perhaps a little more, Loki still has hope. Yes, his magic refuses to hide away his skin, and skitters away from his grasp like a feral animal shying from touch, but there are other magics in the world that could hold power over an illusion. There are potions, to change one's skin, and rituals which might be of some use. Loki, with his great power over illusion and deception, has never had call to use them before, but he knows of their existence, and there are books within his workroom which hold the secrets of their workings.

The work itself comes as a comfort to Loki, as he's no stranger to the delicate task of weaving magic into a useful form. There's something calming in carrying out such familiar motions, in turning to his books and his wit for a solution; for though Loki will bring unrepentant wrath down upon the head of any who claims he is not as capable a warrior as Thor or any of his foolish friends, it is still the truth that magic was Loki's first love.

For an hour, Loki has hope, has some faith that he can return his body to its rightful state and regain his throne; it takes an hour for the potion to be complete.

The first taste of the potion almost makes Loki flinch, so acrid is its presence in his mouth. He pushes aside his distaste and swallows it down, throat working until the very last drop is gone. Then he waits, watching his skin with anticipation. He waits for the familiar illusion to settle over him, and with each moment scrutinizes his own form—is there white appearing, there at his fingertips? Are the hideous, pulsating markings that litter his form sinking back into flat, pale skin?

No. Minutes pass, and more again, and finally, Loki cannot lie to himself any longer—the illusion has not taken. His skin is still not his own, and his magic—it is as though his magic actively fights the illusion, forcing him to remain as he is.

“No,” Loki says, aloud, and the word sounds far louder than he intended it to be. “No.” It's with a sort of frenzy that Loki turns to the book set upon his workbench, turning to the instructions written there to see where he might have gone wrong. Perhaps a missing ingredient, or some slip of the hand? But no, there is nothing wrong with the potion, no error in Loki's own work—the potion has simply failed.

A sudden wave of nausea takes him then, and Loki is forced to be violently, inelegantly sick over his workroom floor. His throat burns, and his fingers tremble, and through it all, his heartbeat is cruelly, perfectly even—because of course the mortal's heart is beating steadily enough to keep Loki's in time, and _damn him_ for taking even that from Loki now.

“Damn him,” Loki says aloud, because there is comfort to be found in anger that panic cannot provide. The wretched mortal, who took from Loki in one night what it took centuries to earn. The throne is his, and rightfully so—it was Frigga who gave it to him, Frigga who bade him take up the spear in defense of Asgard, when his world had need of a king. His throne, his power, his crown, all lost: lost to the treachery of his skin and the worthless match to his own worthless soul—

“No!” Loki snarls, hardly knowing whether he is saying the words aloud or whether they are only in his own mind. He will not be without use, he will not be worthless—he will not always be the second son, buried in the shadow of another's glory—

And Loki has to laugh, then, because no, he shall not be the second son at all. He is no one's son—not Odin's, and certainly not Laufey's. He is only a monster, a changeling, left out on the ice to die by one father and stolen away by another; neither thought he deserved a crown, for all that one is his birth right. Neither would trust him with a throne.

In that moment, he looks down at his skin and understands why they would not. Why should they? He is a monster, is he not? Cursed with this skin, yet such a runt that even the beasts of Jotunheim cast him out; cursed with magic that was his greatest skill when having such power served only to alienate him from his peers, and yet deserted him the moment he had need of it most; and cursed with a mortal match who will wither away and die in the span of barely a breath, and take with him half of Loki's soul, for Loki is clearly not meant to be whole or worthy of love—

It is pain, that brings him out of his momentary descent into madness. Lost in his thoughts as he was, Loki did not realize his own fingers were tearing at his skin, as though to peel this skin away and find his own beneath. All the effort does is make him bleed, and bring him to the sudden realization that he is still standing in his own workroom, covered in sweat and now blood, and standing only feet away from a pile of his own sick.

Loki sneers at himself, at the weakness that has taken him. This achieves nothing, and he will not allow it. He will not destroy himself out of self-pity; how the Norns would laugh at him, if this was how Loki Silvertongue came to his end, caught in a web of his own words and this burning desire to tear something apart.

No. No, if he must destroy something—and he must, he carries rage in his very veins now and cannot stand the heat of it—he'll put his anger to better use, at least.

A dark, sharp smile takes Loki's face, then; for there is, at least, one last use for Loki Odinson in these nine worlds.

Loki knows well the secret, winding paths along Yggdrasil's branches—he knows well the way to Jotunheim.

After all, Loki is the son of two fathers, and it is past time he paid his first father a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...so, there it is. As I said, please be gentle with me for a little while. This chapter was difficult material to cover, and Loki's voice is hard enough for me at the best of times; given how out of practice I am, I really don't feel a hundred percent happy with my writing here, but I figured it was better to just start publishing again and come back and edit later.
> 
> Again, I'm sorry for how long it took me to get this out. As people who follow my tumblr know (and are probably slightly sick of hearing), I had an extremely busy and difficult semester, and basically had to choose between having time to write, or doing well in my classes. This semester is a very different story, and hopefully I'll have enough free time that I won't need to make that choice again.
> 
> For now, I'm not going to set a regular update day, because I would rather not disappoint you guys if I can't make it. I'll just be updating as chapters are complete, which hopefully won't take too terribly long. As I get back into the swing of writing, I'll try to get on a more regular schedule if I can. Thank you to all of you lovely readers who were patient enough with me to stick with this story even through the hiatus.
> 
> As always, I adore hearing from you guys, and your feedback really matters to me. If you got this far and enjoyed, feel free to leave a comment here on ao3, or over on my tumblr here: http://skollwolf.tumblr.com/


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. I'm going to get to chapter specific stuff in a sec, but first I just have to say: OVER A THOUSAND KUDOS, GUYS. OVER A THOUSAND? And 500 comments. I. Wow. I honestly never expected, when I first sat down to write a goofy soulmate au that wouldn't get out of my head, that it would be anywhere near this well received. Thank you, lovely readers. I'm so so happy that people have been enjoying this ridiculous story that I love so much. You're all fantastic. Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, thank you all for the lovely comments and kudos you've been leaving me all this time; thanks for sticking with this story, even through all my ridiculous hiatuses and delays.
> 
> Now, I'm gonna have to have a long note at the end of this chapter for logistical reasons, but I'm going to try to keep this note as short as I can, so, things relevant to this chapter:
> 
> I'm sorry this chapter took so long for me to write. It's another Loki POV, and Loki is far more difficult for me to write than Tony is, for whatever reason. I'm not particularly satisfied with this chapter, but considering that I spent about two weeks staring at it and hoping it would magically transform into a chapter I liked better (spoilers: it didn't), I figured I should just give up and post it.
> 
> And, as it's a Loki POV and Loki is still in a very dark place, triggers warnings for this chapter include: Internalized racism (again, regarding the Jotunns), racist language (against Jotunns, not any race or ethnicity present on Earth, but drawn from patterns seen within colonial language towards colonized groups), self-hatred, and violent thoughts/intent. 
> 
> This all said, here's the chapter.

There is no sound to give warning, when Loki No-Man's-Son comes to Jotunheim—no sudden bright light, no disruption that might alert the monsters of this world to his presence. The paths that Loki walks between worlds are as unlike the Bifrost as they might possibly be; they wind through dark, quiet places that have forgotten the sounds of life, and tolerate Loki only so long as he does not disturb their solitude. 

No, when Loki Silvertongue comes to Jotunheim, he does not come with fanfare and a great rush of rainbow light. One moment, the icy, desolate plain is empty—the next Loki stands upon it, the only sign of his passage the slight shift of the air his body displaces. 

Unlike his last journey to this damnable planet, this time, Loki gives the beasts of this world no chance to notice his presence. Thor is not here to play the obvious, oblivious fool and drive them straight into the lair of Loki's monstrous father—his sycophantic friends, all heavy armor and empty heads, are likewise far from here, and their noisy treads cannot betray Loki's movement. Alone, it is an easy enough thing to disappear in the driving snow, his magic obedient enough to make him a shadow against the ice, should any look his way. His strides are long and steady, carrying him across the empty plain at speed; he does not feel the cold.

Loki's blood rushes like fire in his veins, and each step carries him closer to his goal. The ruin of his birth father's palace looms on the horizon like a jagged, ruined maw; what little glory that place might once have held is gone, and now it stands as a testament to how easily the frost giants fell before the hand of Odin. This is his legacy: a crumbling world full of cowards, brought low by the Allfather.

( _Appropriate_ , a stray thought comes, bitter and colored with self-hatred.)

It is full dark, when Loki reaches those wrecked spires, and stands in the shadow of the great hall of Jotunheim. Nothing stirs, in the palace before him; his day long walk across the ice went unseen, and no alarm has been raised. Some part of Loki thrills at the thought—how easy it would be, now, to press forward, to come upon the beast-king of this world where he lays and slay the monster while he yet sleeps. He wonders, with idle viciousness, how many he might be able to kill before an alarm was raised; how many Jotunn lives could he buy with the price of his own, before he was forced to retreat or die himself? What damage could Loki do, with only blade and magic and shadow as his weapons, against a world of monsters?

(Another thought: _would Odin finally think kindly on the false-son who brought this world to its knees by his own hands alone?_ This thought, Loki forces aside before it can fully form—this one cuts too deeply yet to be borne.)

But no, that is not Loki's purpose here, tempting as the opportunity sounds. It would not be enough—even if Loki left this world with the beast-king's blood on his hands, it would not be enough if it was done from the shadows. Loki does not only want Laufey dead, he wants the monster to know _precisely_ who brought death upon him; he wants Laufey humiliated before his people, forced to confront his end at the hands of the child he cast out. If the only use of this terrible blue skin is to shame his birth-father, to see the King of the Jotnar breathe his last on the blade of the runt he himself abandoned, then so be it. Loki will have his revenge, and damn the cost.

So when he makes his way, in perfect silence, through the winding, crumbling passages of the Jotunn stronghold, he does not do it with the intent of drawing blood. His purpose here is a specific one—there is a gesture to be made, and a sharp grin crosses Loki's face at the thought of it.

…

The king of Jotunheim sleeps deeply, his immense form prone among a nest of furs—he does not stir from his sleep, even when Loki steps fleet-footed into the darkness of his chambers. In the shadowed chamber, the blue of the beast-king's skin appears grey, and the edges of his body indistinct. Loki stands a long moment in his doorstep, watching the rise and fall of Laufey's chest, the fragile rasp of air in his throat; it is possible that Loki has never before faced temptation so strong as this. How easy it would be, to put an end to the monster now—Loki's hand trembles, and he finds a blade in his grip with no memory of reaching for it.

It is only when the first, slanting light of morning pierces the enclosed space that Loki comes back to himself, and puts blade and temptation both away. He is stronger than this; he has chosen Laufey's fate, and it is not this quiet death. Though his heart beats fast in his chest, his steps are quiet; he settles himself easily in one of the vast chairs littered about the room, and waits.

In the end, the sun's rising is what finally wakes the great beast. Loki listens with anticipation as Laufey's breathing quickens, as the furs beneath him rustle when he moves his eyes away from the sun's light. Laufey stirs, and Loki waits just a moment longer—finally Laufey sits up in his bed, and it is then that Loki speaks, his voice full of false, pointed levity. “Good morning, father,” he greets, easily, as though speaking the word does not make his heart wrench within this chest; it is worth the pain of the words, at any rate, to see Laufey startle and twist towards Loki's voice. “Have you missed me?”

“Who are you, to call me father?” the frost giant asks, his voice a deep rattle within his chest. Laufey's red eyes narrow as he looks towards the still-shadowed corner in which Loki is seated. “I have no son.”

“Ah,” Loki says, and there is a dark joy in his heart as he snaps his fingers, calling on his magic for light. He can see the very moment where his form becomes clear to Laufey, his terrible skin revealed by the light. Laufey recoils bodily from the sight, something like horror contorting the harsh lines of his face, and Loki smiles. Here, at last, is a purpose for Loki's ruin; here, in Laufey's punishment, Loki's monstrosity gains some meaning. It is not worth the cost of his throne, his family, and his life—nothing could match the cost that Loki has paid, not a thing in the nine realms could serve to repay him—but vengeance at least serves to soften the blow. “I think we both know that to be a lie.”

“How is this possible?” Laufey begins, his voice tighter than Loki has ever heard it before. Then, seemingly for the first time, Laufey looks to Loki's face, and what he sees there turns his expression vicious. With a great and terrible anger in his voice, Laufey says, “I have seen your face before, Odin's son.” Ice creeps forth from the bed of the beast-king, spreading across the ground like a sudden frost, and the air grows chilled enough to burn in Loki's throat.

“I am no son of Odin,” Loki says, and the words come out too forcefully, hanging in the air like proof of Loki's weakness. Loki swallows, keeps his face still, and forces his next words to come out more lightly. “Though it was Odin who stole me away, it was not he who sired me.” Loki looks to his hands, examining them in a pretense of nonchalance, as he says, “Nor was it he who left me to die on Jotunheim's ice, some centuries ago.”

The truth of it strikes Laufey like a blow, the emotion clear in his face, and Loki savors the pain he sees there. “Then you are come to kill me,” Laufey says, and there is a curious sort of resignation in his voice. Yet, for all that resignation, ice forms as a blade along Laufey's bare arm—the king will not let himself die easily.

Loki laughs, the sound sharp. “Oh, no, _father_ ,” Loki says, and shifts farther in his seat, catching Laufey's gaze and refusing to relinquish it. “If I were here to kill you, you would be dead. No, I have come here to challenge you. I would fight you before all of your people, so that all might see you fall before the very son you once cast out.”

Laufey's face twists with amusement, skepticism clear in every line of his horrid face. “You should have killed me while you could, little runt. It took all of Odin's might to fell me; you will be brought down before me like the foolish boy you are, if you face me in combat.”

Loki will not be cowed by such weak threats. “Yet face you I will,” he says, his tone nearly bored. Laufey is far from the first to underestimate Loki's strength—he will not be the first to regret that judgment. “If a beast like you has the honor to face me, of course.”

At last, Laufey breaks the gaze between them, and comes to stand; he looms in the half-lit space, a giant in true. There is nothing of softness in his expression, now—whatever it was in Laufey that gave him pain at the sight of his lost son, there is no sign of it now. “We will see what you know of honor, Odinson,” Laufey says, nearly spitting out the words. “At full daybreak, I will gather my people.” A sharp smile makes its way across Laufey's face, and Loki refuses— _refuses_ to find anything familiar in the expression. “If you wish to die today, then I will give you death.”

“Perhaps,” Loki says, and bares his teeth in a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is, folks. If you got this far and enjoyed, feel free to drop me a note, either here or on my tumblr. As always, your feedback is pretty essential to me as a writer, and I appreciate hearing from you guys. 
> 
> You can find my tumblr here: http://skollwolf.tumblr.com/
> 
> Now, logistical stuff (going to be long, sorry in advance):
> 
> I feel, given how often this story has had unusual gaps between chapters recently, that I should reiterate my commitment to this story. I am not going to abandon it--though I seem to be in a writing slump right now, I really do love this story, and I want to finish it and share it with all of you. I'm sorry for the gaps between chapters. When I first started writing this story last spring, it was during one of the most prolifically productive writing periods I'd had in years; unfortunately, I've at least temporarily lost the spark that let me write as quickly as I did then, while still being pleased with the work I was doing. I'm hopeful that I'll eventually regain that spark, but until I do, I want to ask for your patience, lovely readers. You don't need to worry that a long gap between chapters means I've given up, but you do have full permission to ask for an ETA on the next chapter, or to essentially poke me for motivation, if it's been a while.
> 
> I also wanted to let you know that we're about two thirds of the way through this fic. My current estimate for the remaining number of chapters is somewhere around 6-7, though we'll see about that as I go. As another reminder, this story is intended to have a sequel, which will cover the altered events of the Avengers in this 'verse. Though our time in the Thor movie is drawing to a close, you needn't worry that this will be the last you see of my Tony and Loki in this verse.
> 
> Finally, chronology wise, Tony and Loki's chapters aren't perfectly synched up right now, so one chapter of Tony's POV and one chapter of Loki's POV do not equate to the same amount of time passing. There are two reasons for this: first, I choose how much each chapter should contain based on how I feel about the dramatic timing, rather than the in-story passing of time, and, second, I just suck at timelines and sometimes manage to confuse myself. I just wanted to preemptively get that out there, and hopefully avoid confusing anyone. Even with the unequal passage of time, Tony's POV and Loki's POV will meet back up, time-wise, in a few chapters; if anyone's confused about how that works, once I get back into Tony's POV and move forward, feel free to ask.
> 
> ....and, since I'm pretty sure I forgot multiple things I wanted to talk about, I'm going to leave it here, with a note that I'm happy to discuss anything that's confusing you/any questions you might have. 
> 
> Thanks again for 1000 kudos, guys. Have a great weekend. :)

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wants to contact me off of this site, feel free to use my tumblr: http://skollwolf.tumblr.com/


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